Difficult
by quillstrike
Summary: "Welcome to the very first Hunger Games!" The 74th Arena is destroyed. Something - or someone - has set off an explosion so volatile, the tributes (those still alive, anyway) are hurled back into a strange land, a strange time. Life as they knew it is gone. The Capitol? Gone. The Districts? Gone. The Tributes? Still painfully alive. Gradual Catoniss.
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

**Author Note: Oh gosh. I really tried to hold out – truly, I did! But after a full week of non-stop Catoniss fanfic reading…I had to give in. For readers of my other story (Of Quills and Serpents), don't worry; I'll still be updating that! **** For readers who don't know who I am, hi! I'm Eliene **** This fiction will be a bit drabble like in nature alternating with more traditional chapters. Warning: The Catoniss will be gradual. They will not be jumping each other in the first few chapters (sorry! As much as I'd love to see that, I feel that they need to build a friendship first). Enjoy and thanks for reading! **

** Disclaimer: Probably one of the few times I'll be putting this in here, just know characters aren't mine and I'm not making money from this.**

_Cato_

He grunts, whipping his right arm forward and lifting his fingers at the last possible second. The metal spear screams forward and slams into the small painted heart on the straw dummy at the other side of the cavernous training center.

No surprise there.

He is already readying the next razor sharp spear, the tip gleaming menacingly in the harsh light of the training center. This time he pulls back his left arm, the muscles in his shoulder coiling backwards as he breathes. In. Out. Release.

He doesn't bother to watch the spear after it leaves his fingers; he knows by the satisfying _thunk_ that it has hit its target.

Cato reaches behind him to grab the next spear and prepares for his next throw. He blinks away a stray drop of sweat that has managed to work its way into his left eye. His muscles are burning, but it is a good pain – with each excruciating minute he continues to train comes another sense of pride. He will make his district proud.

He has to.

"Statistics."

He throws the last spear before turning to face the speaker.

"Twenty throws. Twenty hits. Ten minutes," he recites. Brutus frowns before saying, "Should be eight minutes."

Cato resists the urge to explode; he knows Brutus is testing him, seeing if he's ready for the Reaping tomorrow. He takes a moment to collect himself, a moment to dissipate the red haze that has slowly crept around the corners of his eyes. A few seconds later his mind is clear again, focused on a single goal – winning the Hunger Games.

He casts his future mentor a cold glare that conveys his distaste for Brutus's ploy. Brutus shrugs.

"Just make sure you're ready."

An almost wistful look momentarily passes through Brutus's black eyes; it's a well-known fact that Brutus misses the adrenaline of the Arena.

He turns as if to leave, but at the last second he whirls around and flings a dagger directly at Cato's heart.

Cato lunges to the ground, somersaults forward, grabs a knife from the rack to his right, and swings it forward.

The blade whizzes through the air and smacks into the wall behind Brutus when he steps to the side at the last second. Brutus turns and eyes the blade critically.

"Two inches too far to the left," he says coldly. Cato shrugs; knives have never been his specialty. A small grin snakes its way across his face as he thinks of what _is_ his specialty – swords, spears, and a sheer determination to win.

* * *

"Clove Glen!"

Cato watches as his training partner for the past ten years smirks before breaking free of the gaggle of fifteen-year-olds she had been standing with. She saunters up the stairs, coldly smiling down at the rest of District 2. She will be a formidable partner; they have grown up together, and Cato knows her every strength and weakness.

He notes how her right hand brushes the knife she always wears at her hip. He sees the glint in her eyes and resists the urge to smile; Clove is probably contemplating hitting the Capitol representative in the heart.

She meets his eyes and her smirk broadens to a (albeit small) smile. He nods, his hands clenching and unclenching as he waits for the male tribute to be announced.

This is his chance to do his district proud. His mouth tenses as he thinks of his parents. Like every other parent in his district, they sent him off to training at age five. He practiced basic skills and speed training before getting partnered up with Clove at age eight. His parents expect him to win; it's a given, something that can't even be questioned. When he told them he had been chosen as this year's tribute, they had shrugged before continuing on with their lavish lifestyle – a lifestyle they could only afford because of loans. Loans that could only be paid back when he won.

Cato pins his fellow Careers with a contemptuous glare before sweeping his eyes back up to the platform. How long is the Capitol representative going to _take_?

"Now, for the male tribute…S-"

"I volunteer!"

Cato lunges forward, pushing the other Careers away. They part for him, watching him solemnly as he stalks up the stairs, each step resounding throughout the quiet square.

The Capitol representative titters, exclaiming over his muscles and "magnificent facial structure." Cato resists the urge to punch her; he doubts she has a care in the world. How can she speak of such superficial things? Only one thing mattered – duty.

He casts a sidelong glance at Clove. She rolls her eyes before jerking her head slightly in the direction of the bumbling Capitol woman as if to say, "look at this idiot." Cato doesn't respond, instead turning his head forward to stare impassively ahead.

He doesn't have time for conversation. Not now. Not when he is so close to doing what he's been born to do.

* * *

The train speeds forward silently, the shining metal body gliding on slick silver rails. Cato watches the screen in front of him intently. On the seat next to him Clove is taking particular happiness in carving a face into an unnaturally scarlet apple.

The Reapings have been going on all morning. He has already watched the playback of District 1 and has assessed their weaknesses and strengths. The boy – Marvel – is tall and well built. He has a cocky smile on his face, his right hand flexing as he stands on the platform. Cato notices the way his muscles are bunched along the uppermost part of his arm and shoulder. A spear thrower. The girl – Glimmer – prances on stage and smiles flirtatiously, but Cato knows better than to underestimate her. He zooms in to her hands, smiling grimily to himself as he notes the faint calluses along the palm of her hand. Knives.

The District 4 male is huge, his dark eyes menacing as he hulks behind the scared-looking Capitol escort. Cato frowns; he isn't blind - he can see that this boy is stronger than he is. But that's okay – he doubts the boy's had the years of training he's had the privilege of having.

He dismisses the female as harmless. She is a slight girl of around twelve years old. She hovers on the platform, bouncing up on the heels of her small feet and looking as if she is about to take off into the air. He feels a pang of…something as he realizes she is the same age as his younger brother. The next second he angrily shoves it away and focuses on his goal. It's the same goal he's had since he was five and first grasping the meaning of the Games and honor.

He glances at Clove; by this time Clove is eating the apple, her teeth crunching noisily as she viciously chews it up.

She senses his gaze and looks up, smiling to reveal red-stained teeth. Cato doesn't react, instead raising a single eyebrow.

"Anyone good so far?" she mumbles through a mouthful of apple. Cato turns back to the television, watching intently as the District 11 tributes stumble off the platform. The girl trips, looking so obviously emaciated it's almost a shame. Cato sighs; easy kills. He'd hoped for a bit more of a challenge.

"District 1 seems to be decent," he answers.

Clove scoffs, throwing the apple core into the trashcan ten feet away with deadly accuracy.

"Tell me something I don't know," she sneers, twirling a knife between her pale fingertips. Cato doesn't respond, shushing her as he sees District 12 start to appear on the screen. He knows the tributes will be the standard weaklings, but he knows better than to miss a single detail.

The escort – a garishly pink woman teetering on high heels – delicately plucks a slip of pure white paper from the glass bowl.

She clears her throat before leaning towards the microphone and saying, "Primrose Everdeen!"

* * *

_Katniss_

"Primrose Everdeen!"

_What_? Katniss stares in horror as everyone turns to stare at her younger sister. Prim. The name resounds painfully in her mind. Prim, the girl who cried at the death of a bird. Prim, the girl with the blonde hair and smiling blue eyes. Prim, the girl who saw the good in everyone – even when there wasn't any good to see.

Katniss pushes down the almost-overwhelming urge to cry as she sees that the back of Prim's white blouse is tucked out of her gray skirt.

She has to _do_ something – kick, yell, punch, _anything_.

And suddenly she finds herself moving forward, her mouth opening.

"_I – I volunteer_!"

She pushes past the hordes of white-clad Peacekeepers angrily, shoving them away so she can face the Capitol bitch who thought she could take away her Prim.

"I volunteer!" she shouts again, her voice rising into hysteria as she sees Prim looking at her with a horrified expression on her small face.

The Peacekeepers slowly back away, leaving her to stare directly into Effie Trinket's artificially colored eyes. Katniss lifts her chin and glares at her, her fists clenching at her sides.

"I volunteer," she repeats.

"N-_no!_" Prim shrieks from to her right. Katniss steadfastly looks away, walking slowly towards the platform. She trembles slightly, stuffing her hands into the pocket of her dress as she tries to mask her fear. She tries to block out Prim's hysterical cries. At last she can't resist it anymore, and she turns one last time to see Prim held back by Gale. She meets Gale's eyes, and he gazes at her sadly.

Katniss bites back a sob and straightens her back, resuming her walk upwards. Effie hurries forward to meet her at the top of the stairs, her unpractical heels clicking against the wooden platform. Katniss focuses on them. They probably cost enough to feed a family for a month. She resists the urge to snarl, instead coldly glaring at Effie before looking away.

The next few minutes blur together, and she finds herself shaking hands with the baker boy as Effie trills on and on about the virtues of the Hunger Games.

The baker boy – Peeta – catches her eyes and smiles wryly. She can't return the gesture – her heart is hard.

Her mind flashes back to that moment so many years ago. Her father had just died in the mining accident, and she was rapidly losing the will to live under the stress of supporting her whole family. Her mother was useless, paralyzed by a bout of depression. Not even Prim's cries could bring her back. Peeta had thrown a loaf of blackened bread at her. It was only after that that she found the energy to hunt, to survive.

She looks away, breaking his gaze; she can't afford to get close to anyone. Not now. Not when she's about to go into the bloodthirsty nightmare that are the Games.

* * *

_Cato_

He finds himself leaning forward, his eyes fixated on the dark-haired girl's form as she volunteers. Odd…he can't remember a time when District 12 ever had a volunteer. So why now? He eyes the slim blonde-haired girl sobbing by the side and nods to himself; she volunteered for her sister.

It intrigues him; in District 2, it is everyone for themselves. Sibling ties do not matter at all. He thinks of his own little brother and the time when he was forced to administer his punishment. Twelve lashes, five to the legs and seven to the back.

He tells himself that it was the right thing to do. If he had refused to do it, his brother would have gotten a more severe punishment from one of his all-too-eager peers, all of who were thirsting for vengeance after he made them look bad during the training sessions. It wasn't his fault; while his classmates went off to flirt after their required hours were over, he had stayed afterhours and trained. At first he'd enjoyed the training, reveling in the fatigue and pure power it had lent him. As his parents began talking of his "future win," the training had lost a bit of its glamour, but he still loved the feeling of throwing a weapon or slashing a dummy in a few smooth strokes. It was one of the few times where he was truly in control.

The memory of his sacrifices hardens him, and he forces himself to analyze her. To his surprise, she looks strong. He thought all District 12 brats were weak and malnourished. She obviously is willing to risk herself for those she loves – a definite weakness. She has a determined glint in her eye, which worries him for a split second before he writes it off. Even if she happened to be talented, he doubted she had the ruthlessness needed to win this.

A blonde boy steps onto the platform next. Cato notes his thick arms but smirks when he sees the scared look in his eye.

He leans back in his chair, resting his feet on the glass coffee table in front of him.

"Interesting," Clove says. She is rewatching the part where the girl volunteers. She grins, a wicked glint coming to her eye.

"Shot killing her," she adds, expertly flicking her knife forward and shooting it into the heart of the pear at the other side of the room.

He glances over and smirks.

"Not if I get her first."

**Author Note: I hope you liked it! **** Please review! **


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Two updates in two days? Yup! ;D Mainly because I know it's annoying to have a story w/ only one chapter up. Just to let you guys know – the time travel stuff won't be happening for another few chapters (I'm going to be covering bits of the Hunger Games themselves first). **** Enjoy!**

_Cato_

He flinches away from Marius's touch, shooting him a cold glare when he has the nerve to look affronted. What did he expect? Touch someone without warning him first and you're just asking to have some limb broken. He's been taken by surprise far too many times back in District 2 to accept a simple touch lightly.

Marius tentatively reaches forward again to adjust the gold plating that runs from the neckline of the ridiculous gladiator-like ensemble they've put him in down to the middle of his chest.

He hands Cato an equally ridiculous headgear that's supposed to encircle his head wordlessly. Good. He hates needless chatter; it is both unnecessary and annoying.

Marius nods, a self-satisfied smile growing on his face.

"All the women will be throwing themselves to get to you," he says brightly. Cato scowls and pointedly stares away from the small Capitol man. He hates that he has to do this – he hates that he has to appease possible Sponsors. Not that he'll need the extra help or anything…but he's learned from countless hours of studying prior Games not to turn down anything. So Cato swallows his pride, meets Marius's eyes once, and strides to the waiting chariot.

He nods once to Clove, who is dressed in a matching Romanesque outfit. He supposes that he should be glad they didn't try to force him into a mining outfit like they did in the 68th Hunger Games.

"Ready?" Clove asks.

Cato nods, his mouth settling into a confident smirk.

"Always."

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

Peeta holds out his hand, watching her solemnly. Katniss hesitates for a second before slipping her left hand into his right. She glances downwards nervously as she eyes the skintight black unitard; she's never worn anything this…tight. It's uncomfortable and unpractical.

She reminds herself that she's in the Capitol; she can't really expect them to make sense. Her style team is airheaded but endearing in a way that one would feel affectionate towards a group of helpless children. Cinna, at least, seems to be decent. He hasn't tried to crow about the honor of being in the Games, or if she's "excited to be in the Games," or anything else the other Capitol citizens have bothered her with.

She reaches up to adjust the cape that hangs from her shoulders. She feels a bit foolish, but she trusts Cinna's judgment.

The horses snort, pawing at the ground of the stable as the doors rise. Peeta squeezes her hand, and she glances over to see that he is biting his lip nervously. Katniss looks away, raising her chin once more as the chariot rolls out of the building.

She won't let the Capitol see her as a weakling. She has to live. She has to get back to Prim. A nervous thought flits through her mind; has her mother already fallen into depression? No. She won't let herself think this way. Not now – she has to get sponsors.

So Katniss pastes a smile onto her face and waves with her free hand, hating herself as she blows kisses to the cheering idiots that call themselves humans. The spectators throw elaborate roses onto the chariot, and she cringes away from each one as if they were acid. How could they waste money on flowers when people in District 12 were starving?

She grits her teeth before resuming her steady waving. Peeta's hand is slick in her own; at first she thinks it's because he's sweating, but then she realizes it's her own. Peeta seems to sense her deep anger, and he squeezes her hand once more. She gives him a trembling smile – the first real one of the night – before catching a flower and raising it in the air.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He sighs inwardly as the chariot rolls to a stop in front of President Snow's platform – finally. No more waving to the bumbling idiots. He can't respect anyone who hasn't tasted danger. How can he? He doubts they, like his mentor, have ever had to worry about anything.

"Cato. Look at twelve," Clove says. He turns, eying the twelfth chariot coolly.

He resists the urge to curse out loud; why did they have to get a decent stylist _this_ year of all years? He watches as their capes ripple behind them, looking for all the world like flames flowing freely. It's a genius touch – they look dangerous, untouchable.

He scowls, his hands clenching. They will _not_ stand in his way. He did not train his whole life to be stood up by some weaklings from twelve. What did they have? Pretty clothes. That was it. Cato turns around firmly, forcing himself to smile at President Snow.

Snow gazes down at him with an all-too-knowing look in his eye, and Cato suppresses his need to hit something.

After a few more excruciating moments the chariots finally settle to a stop and Snow finishes his annual speech about the terrible war and violence that preceded the Capitol's peaceful takeover. Snow's words go over his head as Cato focuses on remaining calm.

The second the chariots arrive at the tall glass building that is the Training Center, Cato leaps off the Chariot and heads to the basement training area.

The moment his hand touches the smooth hilt of the nearest sword, he can breath again. He whirls, lunging to slice the head of a mannequin off in one smooth motion.

Peace.

As he stabs and whacks off miscellaneous plastic body parts, various faces flash through his mind – Brutus, saying faster, faster, not good enough. Enobaria's menacing smile, gold teeth filed to glistening tips. His mother, waving around her latest expensive rings or jewelry, talking about the riches they'll get when – not if – he wins. His father, beating him when he thought his instructors weren't doing it enough. His little brother, who is becoming more and more like Cato. And suddenly it's all too much – Cato growls, increasing his pace until the room is a whirl of colors and shapes.

There is nothing but him and the sword. The blade is an extension of his arm, slicing effortlessly through fifty-pound dummies. He pinpoints each pressure point, attacking the vital areas and arteries he's studied countless times before.

He spins one last time only to find there are no other dummies left to attack. He breathes heavily, sweat running down his bare back. His elaborate metal costume had fallen off sometime during the practice, the golden prongs lying warped and bent on the padded ground. He kicks it away angrily before flinging the sword back on the ground – some Avox will pick it up later.

Cato takes a moment to collect himself before stalking back to the stairs and running up the two flights needed to reach the second floor. The red haze has retreated, but it still lingers. It always does. He pauses for a moment before opening the door leading to the District 2 apartment. He is a ticking time bomb just waiting to blow up. He just hopes he can win the Games before that happens.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

Her fingers fumble again, and she curses Haymitch as she flings the failed knot to the ground. Curse Haymitch and his insistence that she stay away from the archery station! Okay, so maybe she understands why he's told her to avoid showing off – if the Careers see her as a danger, they'll aim for her first. But _still_ – she can't stand feeling this helpless!

Her fingers itch; she longs to feel the comfortable strain of her shoulders as she pulls back the string of a finely made bow. Feeling eyes on her, she whirls around, glaring when she sees the monstrous boy from 2 sizing her up. He smirks, dismissing her and turning to analyze the next person, a boy from six.

She scowls, her fingers tightening around the knotted coil of rope. She can't stand Careers. They _relish_ in the Games. They love to kill. She eyes the boy, noting the way he stands comfortably among his pack of mindless Capitol-loving murderers. He is tall, maybe 6 feet one inch. You don't see people that tall in District 12 – they're too malnourished. You're lucky if you _live_, let alone grow to that height. He looks to be quite strong; she can only hope that he is all brawns and no brain, but this frail hope is quenched when she sees the way he is carefully analyzing the way the boy from 6 is futilely attempting to hit a target with a metal baton.

Her frown deepens, and Katniss quickly looks away. She sneers at the knot clenched in between her whitening fingers before sighing and moving to undo it.

Soon, she tells herself. Soon.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

As soon as he feels Twelve's eyes leave him, he turns to observe her again. He is slightly disappointed to see that she stays near the trap setting station; he had hoped that he might have a worthy competitor in her. She seems to be quite the grumpy one, he mused. She is scowling at the rope she holds and looks like she wishes she could burn it to ashes.

"Cato?"

He turns, slightly annoyed at the interruption. Glimmer stands before him, a slender jeweled knife held easily in her left hand. She cocks her head to one side, her blue-green eyes flashing to Twelve before going back to his.

"What?" he barks out. He doesn't trust this girl; she is _too_ flirty, _too_ airheaded. He highly doubts that District 1 would send a stupid girl to the Games – they value their reputation far too much for that. The question was just _what_ Glimmer was hiding – what secret skill did she have? He eyes the knife; although she has carried it around since the training started, he has yet to see her use it.

"What's the plan?" she asks, not noticing his narrowed eyes. He shakes off his suspicion; for now, they will be allies. He wonders vaguely when he will have to kill her. He dreads the moment when he will face Clove; after ten years, he can't help but feel affection towards her. His eyes soften as he thinks of Clove's energetic need to prove herself. She is similar to him in that aspect, but it is easy to forget that she is only fifteen. She is still very much a child, and the part of him that thinks of her as a sister is incensed that they are in the Games together. He knows that only one will come out…and that one person will have to be him.

Glimmer seems to mistake his temporary affection to be pointed at her, for she smiles flirtatiously at him and leans forward a bit.

Cato stares at her eyes impassively. She shivers after a bit before straightening, her girly demeanor vanished.

"Plan?" she snaps. Cato nods; he likes her better this way. How can she expect him to respect her if she goes around throwing herself at everyone? He saw her flirting with the hulking boy from four earlier this morning.

"Same as the 34th, 48th, and 58th Hunger Games. Head to the Cornucopia, kill everyone we can. At night we'll head out to hunt the remaining Tributes. I'm sure the Capitol will have included night vision goggles in some of the packs," he says. Glimmer nods before slinking over to Marvel.

Cato eyes them warily; he doesn't trust them, but he doesn't really have a choice in the matter – Districts One and Two have always teamed up together. He glances over at the tributes from District Four; usually they would be included in the Pack, but…this year's tributes were particularly helpless. He scoffs in disgust as the boy from Four drops to the ground from a weak blow from the instructor. In comparison, the girl is decent…but Cato dislikes the way the girl looks after him with a needy expression. The girls from his district have often looked after him with the same expression, and while he hasn't been above kissing them occasionally, it still annoys him that they are so dependent upon him.

Brutus will probably force him to ally himself with her out of respect for District 2 and 4's friendship. Cato scowls at the thought. He needs to busy himself. He approaches the rack of swords and picks the one from last night; he is pleased to see that the Capitol had replaced the dummies he had decimated already.

As he settles into the familiar routine of slashing, cutting, and stabbing, his surroundings seem to fade out and he is left alone once more.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

How _dare_ they ignore her? She feels the insane urge to stamp her feet like a child. Katniss grips her bow tightly, looking first at the row of perfect bulls-eyes and next at the group of laughing, gossiping Gamemakers who _can't even bother to look at her_. She's participating in their stupid Games. The least they can do is pay attention to her! She snarls, stalking over to the rack of metal arrows and picking the first one she sees.

She fits it smoothly onto the notch on her bow, slides her right arm back, and lines up the tip with the red apple currently held in the pig's snout.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Release.

The arrow flies forward as if it is propelled by rocket launchers, and it imbeds itself into the apple, flinging it into the wall. The Gamemakers stare at her, glasses frozen in mid sip as they regard her incredulously.

Her mind clears slowly, and she falters a bit at what she's just done – would they punish Prim for her impertinent act? Katniss is still too angry to think clearly, and she bows sarcastically and says, "Thank you for your time." She drops the bow onto its rack with a clatter before stalking out of the room.

She would probably regret this later…but for now, she would relish in it. Katniss grins, thinking of the way the plump Gamemaker had fallen into the punch bowl. As she enters the waiting room, Peeta eyes her curiously, clearly surprised to see her smiling.

She waves off his question, saying, "Good luck" before heading back towards their rooms.

…

"You did _what_?"

Katniss groans, resisting the urge to childishly cover up her ears. Effie Trinket stands before her, hysterically ranting about Katniss's "impertinence" and "foolishness." She watches impassively as Effie yells about how her actions "reflect on others." Does she not realize Katniss is about to enter a fight to the death? How can she think about her _reputation_ when she sends off dozens of kids to be viciously murdered each year?

"Look, it's too late now, alright? Give the kid a break," Haymitch drawls. Effie shoots Haymitch an annoyed glare before sitting down with a disgruntled huff.

"Well, don't blame me when you get a terrible score!" she says shrilly.

Her words get to me; what if they give me a 0? Any potential sponsors she's gotten from Cinna's magnificent work would leave immediately…a sudden chill grips her heart. She has to get home. She _has _to. She thinks longingly of the quiet solitude of the woods. She wants nothing more than to be home…but instead she's in the Capitol.

"Hush, they're coming on!" Effie adds even though no one was talking. Katniss stares at the screen, her fingers nervously wearing holes in the pillow she's currently clutching.

The boy from District 1's face spun onto the previously dark screen with the words "MARVEL" emblazoned underneath his leering face. His hair is light brown and shorn closely to his scalp, pale green eyes peering out from underneath dark eyebrows. A few seconds later the number "9" replaces his name.

Then comes the pretty girl from 1 with a score 9 as well. In her picture she looks down her nose at the audience and seems to say, "I am better than you." Katniss scowls; she knows this type of person all too well. Back in 12 the townspeople seemed to think they were better than the Seam, and they would often talk loudly about the "disgusting conditions" of the rest of their district.

She barely has any time to get herself angry, though, because the boy from 2 pops onto the screen. He smirks at the screen. She snarls; she _despises_ arrogant people. And maybe that's too extreme for her to hate someone so quickly…but then she remembers the way he had pushed the boy from 6 and accused him of stealing his knife the other day and stops feeling bad. All traces of guilt disappear when a glowing "10" replaces the "CATO" that had been there previously.

A sickening feeling sinks to her gut; she will have to watch out for him. Haymitch seems to catch onto her anxiety because he pats her arm and slurs out a garbled reassurance. She rolls her eyes but can't help but smile at him; despite her hesitations, Haymitch has grown on her.

And so the faces whirl by and Katniss tries not to think of them as people who are most likely going to get killed in the next few days. With each face, she can't help but think of their families – do they have mothers, siblings, fathers who will miss them? She thinks of what Gale told her earlier that week…he'd said to think of it as hunting. But these were _people_ – they weren't animals she was shooting to feed her family.

Her name whirls onto the screen, breaking her out of her thoughts.

_11_.

She stares motionless at the number, certain that there's been a mistake. An _eleven_? That's the highest score of all the tributes! Effie shrieks in happiness, shouting happily about how she "just knew it!" Katniss is vaguely aware of Peeta's congratulations and Haymitch's drunken crowing, but she can't seem to tear her eyes away from that single golden number.

_Eleven_.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please review! I have to say, I'm quite glad to have found this ship. I've always never really been a fan of Gale/Peeta. My friends would be all "PEE-NISS!" and I'd just be...no. Of course, I can see the allure of Gale/Katniss and Peeta/Katniss and I have no wishes to start a ship war...but I'll always be for Catoniss c;**


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

** Author Note: Thanks to all readers! Two updates in one day? Whatt? But seriously - I hate the just starting phase of stories so I always update like a madwoman in the first couple of days xD After it gets to be a substantial length I taper off into weekly/biweekly updates ;P ****I have to say, it is quite fun to write from Cato's perspective! I always love writing characters that have odd quirks/problems (i.e. Adela in my HP story has her numbers), and Cato's anger problems are really interesting to write!**

_Cato_

_What_?

He stares disbelievingly at the number currently emblazoned on his television screen. Beside him Clove shrieks and begins pelting the wall with the daggers she's taken from the training room.

Twelve stares back at him, her gray eyes seeming to taunt him. The red haze grows, creeping forward as it taunts him. How on _earth_ did that scrawny Twelve girl get a higher score than him? Cato snarls and leaps upwards. Brutus eyes him warily but says nothing as he nears the wall and punches it.

Cato's fist drives a couple inches into the hard wall, sending a brief bolt of pain up his knuckle and towards his shoulder. It's not enough. He growls, stalking forward and grabbing the first object he sees – a porcelain vase – and smashes it on the ground. He did not train his whole life to be shown up by some weakling from District _12_, of all places! He's a Career, damn it!

Clove seems to be taking it only slightly better than he is, as she is currently stomping her feet and stabbing the wall repeatedly with her various knives.

"How did that scrawny girl get a higher score than _me_?" he shouts, kicking the wall and leaving a sizeable indentation in the wallpaper. The Capitol escort – Sissy? – looks as if she's about to protest, but she quickly quiets with a soft "eep!" when he shoots her a glare.

Enobaria smiles menacingly, her pale lips pulling back to reveal double layers of razor sharp golden teeth.

"Losing your touch, aren't you? Disgraceful," she sneers. It's the last word that does it – suddenly Cato wants nothing more than to march over to Enobaria and throttle her, hit her, do _something_ to get her to stop talking. He has to take a couple deep breaths until he is coherent enough to speak.

Cato glares at Enobaria before forcing himself to turn away. He finds himself slamming the door open, ignoring Sissy's weak exclamations of "against the rules to leave!"

He needs to get out.

He finds himself pounding down the stairs to the underground training facility. Looks like the Capitol would need to order a few more dummies.

He pushes open the door forcefully and strides to the sword rack, his mind still full of spinning question that nagged annoyingly at his brain. What secret talent was Twelve hiding? The Gamemakers didn't hand out elevens lightly! Hell, he'd had to decapitate twenty dummies in a row to earn that ten! He thinks frantically back to all the training sessions they've had but can come up with nothing. All he's seen Twelve do are tie knots and practice painting with her district partner! Well, that and scowl a whole lot.

He dreads to think what his family – his instructors – are saying right now. Are they snickering? Are they bowing their heads in shame?

He growls, swinging his hand to punch the wall again. The skin on his knuckles cracks open, scarlet rivulets trickling slowly from the open wounds.

"Someone's got anger management issues."

He whirls, prepared to tackle the speaker and to hell with the consequences.

He catches his breath; it's her. Twelve.

He catches a glint of fear in her gray eyes before it is replaced with cool defiance. She lifts her chin and attempts to look down on him, but he has a good six inches on her.

Good. She _should_ be scared. Cato's fists are clenched, but suddenly he isn't sure of what to do. Yeah, it's one thing to _say_ he's going to pummel her to the death…but when actually faced with her proud face, he is reminded of the consequences that will come with injuring another tribute. He'll be expelled from the Games – he can't afford that.

So he settles for the next best thing.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

The boy from two lunges forward, his arm deftly pinning her to the wall.

"_How did you get an eleven_?" he hisses, his eyes slightly crazed. She resists the urge to look away, instead meeting his dark blue eyes defiantly.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she spits out. He tenses as if he's about to hit her, and she readies herself to knock her head forward and hopefully break his nose. He backs away after a second, breathing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"In the Arena, Twelve," he threatens, glaring at her with those disarmingly dark eyes. They're a deep blue, so dark they almost look black in the dim light of the closed Training Area. She thinks ruefully of her decision to come down here; she couldn't stand the disbelieving crowing of Effie or Peeta or even Haymitch a second longer, so she'd decided to slip down here and shoot some targets. Too late she remembers the bow by her side and attempts to kick it behind her, but the boy notices immediately.

His dark blonde eyebrows furrow, and he says, "_Archery_? I bet you couldn't even pull that string back!"

Katniss scowls; if there's anything she hates, it's a jab at her abilities as an archer. She stares back coolly at him, choosing not to answer. This seems to incense the boy even more, and he steps back to take a few breaths.

Interesting. He's got a temper problem – that could work to her advantage.

After a few moments the boy seems calm enough to speak again, and he spits out, "How good are you?"

Katniss remains silent, Haymitch's warnings ringing loudly in her head. Just this once she'll let her pride go. She lifts her chin and glares at him.

The boy smirks, leaning backwards and folding his arms across his chest.

"You're not an archer at all, are you? I bet you couldn't hit anything," he sneers.

Suddenly it's too much – she didn't ask to be in the Capitol, she didn't ask to be practically assaulted by her Style team, and she _certainly_ didn't ask to be taunted by this ignorant boy who barely looked two years older than her!

She knew he was goading her, but…she _has_ to do something. So she stoops quickly and picked up the bow, her fingers automatically adjusting to the perfect grip.

Without breaking eye contact, she strides quickly over to the target area and notches an arrow.

Breathe. She pulls her arm back…and releases.

_Zing_.

She shoots five more arrows, barely pausing to breathe between shots. Each arrow imbeds itself into the hearts of the five dummies, the last arrow finding its way to the wall 2 cm to the left of the boy's ear.

She casts the bow down with a clatter, noting with satisfaction that the boy seems to be speechless for probably the first time in his life.

She curtsies mockingly, mirroring what she'd done in front of the Gamekeepers.

"Happy Hunger Games," she says flippantly before pushing open the door and leaving the boy behind.

As the doors close behind her, she stops to think of the consequences of her actions – the boy is sure to aim for her first. She flips her braid over her shoulder, thinking vehemently that he can just _try_ to catch her. He won't be able to – she'll run ahead into the woods until she has the perfect opportunity to win.

She'll win for Prim. She has to.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He stares disbelievingly at the bow lying innocently on the padded ground for a few seconds before screaming out in frustration.

He grabs the first sharp object he sees – the spear Marvel had been throwing earlier that day – and flings it at the wall. It quivers for a moment before becoming still, the tip piercing the top of the "1" in "District 12."

At least now he knows what she's good at. He thinks briefly of adding her to the alliance before dismissing it quickly; for one, she'd never leave the Blonde Softie and next – he isn't even sure he could stand her irritating nature for that long.

No, he will just have to kill her quickly.

….

He finishes his interview with Caesar, casting one last cocky smirk at the adoring audience before sauntering off the stage.

As soon as he is in the relative darkness of his seat, he allows himself to scowl again. He can't seem to stop thinking about Twelve. Last night he couldn't sleep, various strategies running through his mind until it drove him to the brink of insanity. She was just a scrawny underfed weakling! How could she have the strength to shoot that bow so well?

Cato frowns, barely paying attention to the next interviews. It's not until Caesar calls out Twelve's name – Katniss Everdeen. What kind of name is _that_? – that he sits up straight and pays attention. Clove pokes him, but he ignores her, his eyes glued to the shimmering abomination that is her dress.

Alright, she looks…decent in it. He's a semi-normal male; he's bound to notice that. But his calculating mind takes over quickly, scoffing at the impracticality of the gemstones imbedded in the bodice and skirt. Of course, it isn't like his own dark suit is practical. It seems like Cinna had taken the fire thing to the next level. He rolls his eyes but feels a pang of worry; Capitol idiots just _love _this sort of continuing decorating theme. He curses Marius for the hundredth time.

Twelve prattles on about her sister but generally just comes off as hostile. Cato smirks a bit at that; Sponsors would be driven off by her aloofness. Still, he does have to cast a grudging respect for her love for her sister…Prim, was it? He doesn't know many people – alright, he doesn't know _anyone_ – who would have done that. Of course, it's different in District 2 – people compete to be Tributes. But in District 12? Tributes are something to be _pitied_. He has to respect her for sacrificing herself like that.

That is, until she stands and twirls like an utter idiot.

He scowls, his fingers digging into the fabric of his pants as he watches her spin like a mindless child.

"God, I hope she dies soon," Clove whispers. Cato can only agree, and he watches as the reflecting lights thrown off by the ember-like jewels on her dress captivate the Capitol citizens.

Yes, he decides. She is a threat and will have to be taken care of quickly.

Twelve teeters off the stage (she looks quite uncomfortable in the small heels Cinna's put her in) and Blonde Softie soon takes his place in the seat across from Caesar. Cato observes only half-heartedly; sure, Blonde Softie had proven to be strong when he threw that hundred pound ball across the room, but Cato doubted he could hurt a fly.

Caesar and Blonde Softie talk for a bit about harmless stuff, gradually drifting to the topic of girls. Cato resists the urge to roll his eyes; it seemed like Caesar always went to that topic.

He forces himself to pay attention to what they are saying. Blonde Softie has just admitted to liking someone…Cato scoffs; the boy seems to be serious. He has a heartsick expression in his pale blue eyes…doesn't he know that he's about to die? It will only make matters worse to linger on possibilities.

"_She came here with me_."

Cato blinks; did he mean…?

He looks sharply over at Twelve, noting the way her fists are clenched and how she seems to be shaking with anger. A short burst of laughter escapes his mouth before he can stop it, but thankfully the sobbing of hundreds of melodramatic Capitol citizens masks the sound. Honestly? Couldn't they _see_ that Twelve did not return the feelings?

A thought comes to his mind, and he scowls at the implications. The drunk mentor must have come up with this ploy to gather up more sponsors…

It's a smart move, Cato can (albeit grudgingly) admit that. He looks back over at Twelve and notes with glee that she seems to have gotten even redder in the past few seconds.

Of course, the move would only work if Twelve didn't murder Blonde Softie first. And, by the looks of it, that was going to happen sometime in the very near future.

Significantly more cheerful, Cato whistles softly, resting his arms lazily on the armrests of the chair. Clove shoots him a questioning look, but he ignores her probing glance.

Yes, this can still work. He will still win, he will still return home triumphant, he will still make his district proud.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

"_What the hell, Peeta_?" she snarls, shoving him back so he is pinned against the wall. She is flushed, her cheeks burning – how could he humiliate her like that in front of everyone? Strong hands pull her from Peeta, and she struggles against them. She glowers at Peeta, satisfied to note that a flicker of fear has flashed into his eyes. Good. He _should _be scared. How could he _do_ that?

She whirls around and gives Haymitch her best glare. He rolls his eyes but releases her hold. Katniss steps quickly away from him, her eyes burning as she waits for an answer.

"He made you look _desirable_," Haymitch says forcefully.

She pauses, the words parting the anger she's clung onto until now. She snarls, realizing he's right – Peeta has just endeared her to the Sponsors. She hates feeling indebted to him – well, more in debt than she already was before. Peeta smiles warily at her, his eyes still hesitant.

She ignores him, turning to face Haymitch once more.

"Was I convincing?" she grits out. Yeah, she doesn't like that she wasn't told beforehand, but she can see why they didn't tell her. Of course, that doesn't mean she doesn't still feel angry.

Haymitch nods, his hand dropping to the flask at his hip.

"You were perfect."

She nods back at him, a tight, tense gesture, before spinning on her heel and stalking to the stairs. No elevator for her – the twelve flights up would do her good. She needs to clear her head before she does something she regrets.

She blindly shoves the door to the stairwell open and runs up the first few stairs, still struggling to control her anger.

_Wham_!

Katniss bites down a curse, looking up and meeting the dark blue eyes of the boy from 2. Somewhere in the back of her mind she notes with detached interest that there is a ring of yellow-grey flecks around his left pupil. She glares defiantly up at the boy before moving to shove past him. She has no time to deal with him right now.

The boy moves to block her, his mouth curling up into a cocky smirk.

"I suppose I can't call him Blonde Softie anymore," he says, his voice carefully devoid of any emotion. She gapes up at him; _what_? After a moment she shakes her head quickly; he's trying to intimidate her, make her too distracted with whirling questions to see that he's planning to kill her.

She refuses to look away, meeting his eyes and lifting her chin rebelliously.

"Move," she says calmly.

He shrugs, shifting to the side so there is barely enough room for her to move past him. She grits her teeth and pushes past him, her side tingling where it brushes against his stomach. This is the boy that has gotten 3-1 odds. This is the boy that she will have to watch out for. This is the boy she will have to kill so she can return home.

She feels his eyes on her back, and it's all she can do not to whirl around and shove him down the flight of stairs. She's surprised by the sudden vengeful impulse; sure, he upsets her…but does she really want to ki-

No. She can't think of him as a human.

He's an animal, Katniss, she firmly tells herself. A monster. He is not human. He does not have a family. He does not have emotions.

"Send Lover Boy my greetings," he adds when she's almost out of earshot. She clenches her fists but continues upwards, steadfastly ignoring him. She won't let him see how much he rattles her. She won't.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He watches her leave, his mouth sliding into a comfortable smirk as he notes the way her knuckles are white and her shoulders are shaking. Yes, he's gotten to her. Cato is all too familiar with the delicate nuances of psychological warfare. He's had it used against him way too times when he was younger, when he was more innocent and helpless. His smirk disappears and is replaced by a firm frown; yes, he's not helpless anymore.

He is no longer that scared little kid thrown into a world of rigorous training and harsh instructors. He's stronger than that. He will win these games.

He watches her until she has disappeared out of his view before turning around and entering his rooms on the second floor.

Soon, Cato. Soon.

…

He breathes in, breathes out. The metallic voice counts calmly down from thirty, the mechanic sounds booming around the green pasture.

_Twenty one…twenty…nineteen…_

He has already scanned the pasture and taken in the environment; there is a large grassy field surrounding the gray Cornucopia, but the grass is far too short to offer sufficient cover. He notes grimly that there is a large forest surrounding the field; the numerous trees will make it slightly more difficult to track down everyone, but he will make do. He always does.

He glances over at Clove; she smirks back at him before turning her face forward again. He follows her gaze, noting with a hint of amusement that she is fixated on a briefcase displaying row after row of gleaming knives. Of course she would go for that.

_Fifteen…fourteen…thirteen…_

Cato makes sure to meet the eyes of everyone in his alliance, making sure that no one looks as if they are about to back out or do something equally foolish. The boy from 3 looks a bit sick to his stomach, but when Cato meets his eyes he swallows his nervousness and returns Cato's nod. Cato narrows his eyes slightly; the only reason he has allowed him into the Pack is because he has promised that he can disable the bombs situated around each platform and use it as a weapon.

_Seven…six…five…_

It's almost time. He tenses, crouching down into the ideal stance for taking off with explosive speed. He's trained his whole life for this. He's as ready as he'll ever be.

He casts a quick glance over at the opposite end of the podiums, noting the way Fire Girl and Lover Boy seem to be communicating silently. Lover Boy seems to genuinely like her; he can use that to his advantage later. If he ever manages to capture Fire Girl he can use her as bait to draw out Lover Boy and kill them both.

His mind is coldly calculating his route to victory, pinpointing each strategy into deadly detail.

_Three…two…one_…

And he's off, his feet pounding against the prickly grass. It's dry grass – water will surely be a problem. He aims for the boy from 6 first, remembering the way the insolent boy had taken his knife during the training session. The boy looks terrified, and Cato blocks out his expression determinedly. He is a training dummy, nothing more. Cato draws back his fist and punches him, taking a grim sense of satisfaction when the boy screams. After a few blows, the boy sinks into oblivion. Cato waits for a second to ensure that his heartbeat has stopped before shoving away from the body and grabbing an iron machete that is lying in the grass near him.

A flash of movement catches the corner of his eye, and he whirls around and swings the machete downwards without thinking. The attacker – a boy from 10 – collapses to the ground, scarlet blood bubbling up from the massive wound. Cato ignores it; he is well used to blood by now. During the training sessions the instructors would have them wound each other until they were all desensitized to its effects. Any sign of weakness and you were inflicted with a punishment ten times more severe than you would have gotten had you not flinched.

He spies a flash of long dirty blonde hair hurtling towards him and the telltale gleam of a well-made sword. He goes into autopilot, ducking down quickly to avoid her blow before snapping his arms back and knocking the sword from her hands. He kicks, knocking the girl into a nearby supply crate, and stabs her heart with his machete. It's all over in less than a minute – Cato's not the type to draw out his battles. Besides, he has to get rid of as many of these weaklings as possible. It'll be a huge pain to have to track them down later.

He runs toward his next target, a boy from District 9. Cato doesn't stop to think; he becomes a whirling, lethal weapon of mass destruction as he slices his way closer to victory.

Nothing else matters.

Pride. Honor. Victory.

He grits his teeth before slamming his palm forward and breaking the neck of the last tribute foolish enough to remain near the Cornucopia. The boy crumples, leaving Cato feeling a bit lost.

He's completed the bloodbath.

He feels disoriented, lost without an immediate goal. All right, so he's managed to kill a substantial amount of tributes.

He watches as Glimmer's slender form bounds up to him as she crows about the victory. He notes that she is clutching a bloodstained knife with fierce possessiveness; yes, he decides, he was right about there being more to her than met the eye.

His allies' triumphant yells blur out as he thinks back to Twelve.

Had she been foolish enough to stay near the Cornucopia?

He quickly scans the field, searching for that unique shock of dark hair. Nope. She's survived. He's not sure what to feel at that – disappointment that a formidable enemy is still alive?

No, that's not it. Cato stares at the dark outskirts of the forest, his lips pursing as he tries to pinpoint his emotions. After a minute he sighs with frustration and angrily snaps himself back into shape.

Let the Games begin.

**AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please please please _review_! =D Reviews=my source of inspiration ;]**


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

** Author Note: Thanks for reading! **** This is where the AU parts start to kick up a bit (hey – I need to create some Catoniss moments **_**somehow**_**! ;P ), but I'll try to stick as closely as I can to canon until the whole explosion.**

_Katniss_

She runs, her feet slipping and sliding on the damp leaves situated around the lake. She can feel her leg burning and can feel the slippery warmth of fresh blood running down from her thigh. She hisses as each jarring movement forces her wound to stretch, to compress, to _ache_. Katniss knows from her mother that burn wounds are one of the most painful injuries to have…stupid Gamemakers! Was it _really_ necessary to throw those fireballs at her?

She resists the urge to curse and fling the knife in her backpack at the squirrel that's been following her run at unnatural speeds; she knows from prior observations that it's a camera. Haymitch should be happy she isn't giving in…she allows herself a moment of dark laughter as she thinks what his reaction would be if she flung the knife into the camera lens.

She can hear harsh breathing behind her, only broken by the occasional bloodthirsty shout. The Careers. She _hates _them. Do they not realize how terrible the Games are? How can they revel in the death, the destruction?

Focus, Katniss, she sternly tells herself. Hatred towards them won't stop them from killing you. She already knows that the girl from 2 – Clove – seems to be particularly bent on killing her. She shivers as she ducks under a low-hanging branch, remembering the bloodbath of the previous day. The small girl had whipped a serrated knife at her with frightening speed and accuracy, and it had only been sheer luck that had saved her from having it plunge into her gut.

"Get her!" comes another triumphant yell.

She shudders, her breaths coming out in harsh rasps that grate painfully against her throat. She can't keep going on like this; already she is seeing white hot spots at the corners of her eyes, spots that she _knows_ don't exist but still dance around distractedly. She spies a promising tree and half-runs, half-limps towards it.

She jumps upwards to catch the lowermost branch, her arms screaming their complaints. She grits her teeth and ignores the pain, swinging her leg up so that she is balanced precariously on top of the limb. Of all the Careers, she judges that Clove will probably be the best climber. Lucky for Katniss, though, she's been climbing her whole life while Clove has probably only practiced on artificial rock walls. Clove won't know the subtle nuances of the branches or how to judge which branches will hold your weight and which ones will crack and send you to your death.

Up. Up. Up. She repeats the word mechanically as she blinks tears of sweat from her eyes. Her hair sticks to her face and smells of blood, the bitter, salty scent overwhelming her nose and threatening to make her vomit.

The noises grow louder; the Careers have caught up to her. She tries to climb one last branch, but gives up when her arms start to shake uncomfortably before she's even put half her weight on them. This will have to do. She peers down, watching as the Careers cluster around the base of the tree.

She briefly catches the eye of Peeta and hisses, quickly looking away. She still can't believe his betrayal – wasn't the whole point of this whole "star-crossed lover" thing to endear themselves to potential Sponsors? She can't imagine that Peeta's joining the Careers have helped their case any. They jeer at her, debating loudly about how to best get her. The boy from 2 shoves them away and jumps up onto the first branch, his large arm muscles straining as he hoists himself up.

Katniss holds her breath, watching worriedly as he makes it all the way up to the sixth branch. She's on the eighteenth branch; surely he won't make it up that far…? He appears to be too heavy. Yes, there. She observes with detached satisfaction as the branch he has grabbed snaps and he tumbles down. He curses and scrambles to his feet, glaring at her with those dark blue eyes.

The pretty blonde girl from one reaches behind her for something. Katniss lets out a longing sigh when she sees what it is; it's the silver bow she'd noticed on the first day. She longs to feel it and shoot, but for now all she can do is watch helplessly as Glimmer clumsily notches an arrow and pulls the string back.

Her stance is all wrong – her feet are turned inward and her elbows are facing her body instead of behind. She lets go of the string, her fingers uncurling too slowly, causing the arrow to twist at the last second and fly harmlessly past Katniss. Katniss laughs shakily before finding the nerve to taunt, "Nice aim." Glimmer scowls, her delicate face twisting into a vicious sneer as she reaches for another arrow.

Shoot. Katniss knows that one arrow is bound to find its mark at some point.

"Why don't we just wait her out?"

Glimmer pauses, sending Peeta an incredulous look. Katniss does the same; why is he saying this? Doesn't he realize that they can easily kill her now? She doesn't know what to think with Peeta anymore – first he was the bread boy who had saved her family's life, then he was her fellow district mate, and then he was a would-be star-crossed lover, then a traitor, and now…what?

She watches as the Careers argue amongst themselves for a bit before deciding to follow along with Peeta's plan. The boy from two shoots her one last determined glare before settling down.

She waits until they have all mostly fallen asleep before moving, the slight movement jarring her wound painfully. She hisses, squeezing her eyes shut. That frantic run had certainly not helped things. She peels back the fabric of her pants delicately, wincing as it sticks to her open wound.

God, this is going to hurt.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He stirs, an annoying buzzing sound in his ears. He flips over sleepily, his hand absent-mindedly going to the metal beauty of a sword strapped to his back.

Wait. Buzzing?

He starts awake and jumps into a crouch, his body tense as he surveys his surroundings. Where is that sound coming from? Twelve! He looks up quickly, his mouth opening as he spots a large object hurtling downwards.

He can just pick out hundreds of angrily buzzing insects whirling around the hive before he has the sense to shout out a brief warning.

Cato runs frantically, his legs crushing stray branches as he panics. A sharp pain penetrates his left elbow, and he looks down just in time to see a huge red-white welt swell up on his skin. Tracker jackers. He grits his teeth, fighting off the haziness that comes with tracker jacker venom. A burning sensation licks down from his elbow, making his wrist and hand tremble uncontrollably. Damn Twelve. However, even he can't deny the fact that he feels a flicker of morbid respect to her. It was a pretty smart move for her to drop the nest down…pretty ruthless, too.

Is Clove all right? He is almost tempted to run back and check on her, but he quickly hears her familiar footsteps behind him. Good. He can distantly make out Glimmer's terrified screams; looks like she hadn't been fast enough to escape. Pity. She'd just started to get interesting too – he'd caught her viciously stabbing some girl from 8 just a couple hours ago. He crashes past a particularly large bush, desperately searching for water. Another sharp pain stabs into his right side, the infernal insect having managed to work past the cotton shirt he is wearing.

His surroundings start to blur together as he runs, and he curses loudly as he almost trips and stabs himself with his own sword. He can suddenly hear Enobaria's slippery voice whispering, "Disgraceful" over and over again, the single word pounding painfully against his head. He clutches at his temples but struggles forward. He's a Career. He can work past this. He has to.

"Cato!" He whirls, recognizing the sound as Clove. Clove. Over the past decade he's come to think of her as his little sister…an annoying one with an unhealthy obsession with knives…but a sister nonetheless. Her yell was scared…Clove does not scare easily. He fights down a curl of panic, an inner war battling it out inside his head. Does he go back to make sure she's okay and risk getting stung again? Or does he continue on to safety? Can he live with himself if he abandons her? Cato feels uneasy; what will he do when it comes down to just Clove and him? Will he be able to kill her?

Cato scowls, forcing his troublesome thoughts from his mind. He ignores all traces of common sense and quickly retraces his steps. He is no longer running away from the tracker jacker nest. No, he is running directly towards it.

Of course, he can no longer be sure of anything. Ghosts from his past materialize around him, taunting, screaming, and laughing as he stumbles around blearily. His elbow and side now feel as if they're about to fall off, but still he presses on. For Clove.

He is dimly aware of getting stung three more times, each sting a sharp dart that seems to burrow itself deep into his skin. Well, at least he's getting closer. He can no longer hear Clove, but then again he isn't really sure he can trust his senses anymore.

A loud rustling sounds to his left, and he whips out his sword and slashes forward without thinking. A strangely high-pitched grunt comes from the person as the sword meets resistance, and Cato is grimly pleased to see that even when under hallucinations he is still able to inflict damage. The sound magnifies before echoing several times at various pitches, the sound grating painfully against his swollen ears. The person collapses to the ground, a shock of blonde hair melting together with the dull green of the forest ground. That is, if the person was there to begin with. Cato isn't sure of anything anymore. Cato pulls his sword back and stumbles forward once more. He has to find Clove.

Finally, he can walk no more. Feeling utterly disgusted with himself, he finds himself collapsing to his knees as the ghosts press closer, closer, always closer. He's a Career! He's not supposed to fall at a mere _tracker jacker_ sting! The nearest ghost's mouth widens as she stretches her arm out to him. He dimly recognizes her as a twisted version of Glimmer and notes that she clutches a bloodstained knife in her hand.

And then all goes black.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She drops to the ground, wincing as her feet jar against the earth and sent bolts of pain up to her injured thigh. The cream Haymitch sent helped a bit, but it still throbs with sudden movements. Her mother would probably order her to remain in bed if she were still in District 12…but, of course, Katniss isn't home. She's in the Hunger Games.

She feels extremely lucky; she has not been stung by any of the tracker jackers. She spies a lock of light blonde hair trailing against a pile of crumpled leaves. Glimmer. Feeling a bit horrified, she creeps a bit closer and just manages to swallow the horrified yelp that had threatened to escape from her lips. Glimmer looks…mutilated. The tracker jackers have stung every inch of her exposed skin, causing her face to look more like a bloated balloon than the pretty human she once was. Katniss fights down her nausea – she's never been good with human injuries – and brightens up a bit when she spots the silver bow still strapped to Glimmer's back. Alright. She can do this.

She steels herself for a moment before bending down gingerly and sliding the bow from Glimmer's still body. There. Breathing a sigh of relief, she swings the quiver full of metallic arrows over her shoulder and clutches the bow with her right hand. She grins; she is no longer helpless. She can fight.

A sudden crash sounds to her left. She tenses, her arm silently reaching back to pull an arrow from her quiver. Her every nerve is on fire, each one screaming at her to run. She's tired of running. As she imagines Haymitch yelling at her stupidity, Katniss does the very thing she's avoided doing since the start of this whole ordeal – she heads _towards_ the suspicious noise.

She gingerly pulls back a broad leaf, her eyes darting around for the source of the sound. At the last second she happens to glance down.

She claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes widening to astronomical sizes as she observes the sight in front of her; the boy from two is lying helpless on the ground, his ear, neck, elbow, and side all swelling up angrily. He's unconscious, and from the look of those stings, he's not going to be waking up anytime soon. Katniss remembers the bow in her hands, and for a moment she's tempted to just shoot him and get it over with.

After quickly glancing around for any hidden observers, she approaches his still form and kneels down next to him. She places her head on his chest and listens for a heartbeat. _Thud. Thud. Thud_.

It's there, but it's faint. She looks at him silently for another moment before raising her bow slowly and pointing the arrow at his heart.

She can do this. For Prim.

She bites her lip, her hands trembling a bit as she stands there. He looks almost innocent in his sleep, the tips of his eyelashes just brushing the tops of his high cheekbones. In this moment he isn't a Career. He isn't someone who would kill her without a second thought. Instead, he's just another victim in this twisted Capitol game. She groans, relaxing her stance and slipping the arrow back into her quiver.

Damn it. Feeling utterly disgusted at her weakness, she stoops down and begins dragging him to the cover of the dense underbrush a couple feet away. She knows she's going to regret this…and yet she can't just kill an unconscious boy.

She becomes aware of a slight rustling behind her, and her arrow is out and notched in less than ten seconds as she whirls around.

"Who's there?" she asks harshly. She's in no mood to face another tribute.

Rue's timid eyes appear from behind a slim tree trunk. Katniss relaxes and puts away her bow.

"Hey Rue," she says softly. Rue reminds her painfully of Prim, and she's found that she's becoming more and more protective of her. It's probably not wise, but she can't bear to even contemplate killing her. Rue steps fully away from the trunk and approaches her with a hesitant smile on her face, but lets out a soft 'eep!' when she sees the boy's motionless form behind her.

In the next moment she is up twenty feet in the nearest tree, peering down anxiously.

Katniss sighs, smiling a bit at the girl's speed.

"Rue, it's all right. He's unconscious – he can't hurt you," she promises. Rue hesitates for another moment before slowly dropping to the ground and approaching her.

They stare at him silently for a few more moments before Rue says, "I know how to help him." Katniss tenses, biting her lip as she looks at the boy's angry welts. As much as she wants to be strong enough to say no, leave him alone…she can't.

She turns to Rue and nods. Rue shoots another anxious glance at the boy before darting off. Katniss sighs and settles down next to the boy, her hand still holding tightly on to her bow. The boy shudders, his hands tightening around an invisible enemy as he moans. Yup, she's definitely going to regret this.

Rue returns a few minutes later with an armload of waxy green leaves. She watches curiously as she brings one to her mouth and chews it up. Rue spits out the green glob and smears it on the boy's neck before offering a leaf to Katniss. After hesitating a moment Katniss mirrors Rue's actions. The leaf is slightly bitter, but nothing too unpalatable. If she can hold down Greasy Sue's infamous stews, she can do this.

"Why are we helping him?" Rue asks, her voice innocent and high. Katniss feels a flash of anger as she looks at her; the girl is too young to be in this monstrous event.

Katniss shakes her head before saying finally, "I'm tired of the bloodshed." Rue nods and doesn't question her further, and Katniss smiles gratefully at her.

Soon the boy is completely covered with the leaves, and he visibly relaxes, the tension melting from his body. Katniss stands up and helps Rue up, brushing the dirt from her pants. She adjusts the bushes so they cover his body.

As she stares at the area of the dense underbrush where he is hidden, she asks herself what is next. What happens when he wakes up?

She can't come up with an answer.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He groans, blinking blearily as he tries to make of his surroundings. Where _is_ he? He attempts to get up, his muscles shrieking in protest as he props himself up. Strange…his arms and neck seem to be covered with waxy leaves. He gingerly lifts one off of his neck and winces when his finger hits the skin underneath; it's still a bit raised from the…

He bolts upright, his memories returning to him. Where's Clove? The last thing he remembers is looking for her. He jumps to his feet, ignoring the pain. Brushing off the leaves from his body, he scans his surroundings frantically.

Shoot! His sword is gone. Cato tenses, his hands curling into tight fists. He's more than capable of fighting without one.

A small rustling sounds to his left, and he quickly crouches and prepares to tackle the person. A flash of dark hair peeps through the leaves as the person reveals herself.

Twelve!

She sees him standing and immediately drops the leaves she has been carrying. She darts behind a tree just as he throws himself at her. He growls; he needs answers! He lunges for again, but she drops to the ground and rolls out of the way. The end of her braid smacks his tender neck, and he snarls, the red haze beginning to spread across his vision.

He darts forward again. He doesn't miss. As he pins her to the ground, she breathes heavily, a flash of panic darting through her gray eyes.

"_Stop!_"

He pauses, looking over his shoulder to see the tiny girl from 11 flying towards him with a desperate expression in her face. Twelve pushes at him furiously, but he doesn't budge.

"She _helped_ you!" He blinks, the haze clearing a bit. The leaves…had Twelve really helped him? Suspicion immediately darts through his mind; _why_ would she help him? He certainly wouldn't have helped her.

Still, he owes her now. He growls, disgusted with the situation – he _hates_ owing people. He slowly gets off her stomach. Twelve jumps up, angrily glowering at him. Well, looks like she is as cheerful as ever. Not.

"Why?" he asks warily. Twelve looks conflicted for a second before her face quickly smoothes back into indifference.

"You were unconscious. I was tired of hurting people," she says simply. Cato resists the urge to laugh; Twelve is even more foolish than he thought. Doesn't she realize that he will kill her eventually?

"You _owe_ her," comes little Miss Annoying from behind him. He scowls; he _knows_ that. He backs up from them even though every brain cell in him is screaming for him to kill them both while he can.

"Just this once," he warns. Twelve stares back at him, all traces of fear gone from her dark eyes.

After a while she inclines her head slowly before opening her mouth.

"Just this once."

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please please please review! **


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

** Author Note: Thanks so much for reading/reviewing/following! I love getting reviews…they make me so happy! :D **

_Katniss_

There are nine left. Katniss. Rue. Peeta. Cato. Clove. Marvel. Thresh. Foxface. The boy from 3. Out of the twenty-four tributes that came, fifteen are dead. Fifteen will never return to their families. Fifteen will never get to find love or live to see their golden ye-

"Katniss!"

Katniss starts, pulling out of her troubling thoughts. Rue's warm brown eyes gaze back at her worriedly.

"Are you all right?" she asks. Katniss smiles, pulling Rue in for a hug. She's gotten really close to this little girl from Eleven over the past day or so. She can almost hear Haymitch's exasperated scolds as he watches her form an alliance with a girl he would certainly not deem a smart choice. But Katniss has never been one to accept things blindly, so she lets herself get close to Rue. She won't think about the inevitable end…

Katniss lets go of Rue before saying, "Of course. You know the plan, right?" Rue lets out an overly weary sigh before blinking innocently when Katniss shoots her a half hearted scowl.

"_Of course_," Rue parrots happily. After a stern glare from Katniss, Rue rolls her eyes before bouncing up on her heels energetically.

"I go around lighting the fires so the Careers leave the hide out. You take out the boy from 3 and destroy their supplies," she recites. Katniss nods before adding, "And you _run_ if you even _think_ there's a chance of someone near you, understand?"

Rue sighs again before nodding. Katniss pulls Rue in for another tight hug before pulling back and resting her hands on her shoulders. She searches Rue's eyes, trying to memorize this little girl's features. Rue seems to sense what she's doing, for she says softly, "Don't worry, Katniss."

Katniss blinks furiously before summoning up a trembling smile. "Just…don't die, okay?" she says fiercely through choked back tears. She's already separated from Prim. She can't lose Rue too. Rue smiles sweetly before a mischievous glint sparks through her brown eyes.

"They can't kill me if they can't catch me!" she pipes up. Katniss has to laugh at that; over the past few hours she's learned that there's nothing that Rue can't climb. She shoots Rue one last look before gripping her bow and sliding through the underbrush.

Time to destroy some food.

Katniss pauses in front of a tree as she allows herself a small smile at her last thought; she never thought she'd be thinking _that_. Still smiling a bit, she pushes past the last broad leaf and paused, her eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness of the clearing surrounding the cornucopia.

Clove and Marvel seem to be arguing about something, and the boy from 3 is nervously perched on a spare supply crate. Cato is off to the side, his head turned sideways and his lips pursed in thought. He absent-mindedly runs his hands over a gleaming sword, and Katniss pushes down a flash of nervousness at that.

Cato suddenly stands upright, his eyes flicking to the area directly opposite of Katniss. Katniss follows his gaze, her eyes tracing the thin plume of gray smoke currently weaving its way upward. The Careers let out a triumphant bellow before quickly clambering for their weapons. Cato shoots one order at the boy from 3 before leading the pack out of the clearing.

Katniss grins; perfect.

She is about to rush forward and take out the boy – how, she's not completely sure – when she notices a flash of fiery red hair emerging from the trees a couple feet away. She curses before crouching, every nerve in her body tensely coiled. She has no time to retreat back into the trees; all she can do is hope Foxface doesn't look back.

What is she doing? Katniss's eyebrows furrow as she watches the slender girl hop carefully from place to place. The girl trips and falls to her knees, her eyes screwing up quickly and her already-pale face whitening to a deathly pallor. Silence. After a second the girl visibly exhales before slowly getting to her feet. Odd; what is there to be scared off?  
Foxface continues her careful dance before reaching the pile of supplies and nimbly plucking a bag of dried meat from the side. She performs the delicate dance again before running off when she reaches an area about ten feet away from the pile.

Katniss's eyes shoot back to the boy from 3, noting the way he hasn't even realized that Foxface has stolen food from him. Foxface is smart; she can't imagine that she went through all that trouble for nothing. Katniss thinks of the way she looked absolutely terrified when she fell…almost like she was afraid she was going to die.

Wait.

The boy from 3. District 3. Katniss can distantly remember some teacher's voice droning on about 3 at some point in her childhood…of course, Katniss hadn't really paid attention at the time. District 3…technology. Katniss's eyes slowly drift back to the podiums…the earth around each metallic circle is disturbed, piles of dirt surrounding large pocket marks.

District 3. Technology. Bombs. And all of a sudden, everything snaps into place – the boy planted bombs around the pile! _That_ explains why the Career kept around such an obviously incompetent tribute for so long. Katniss resists the urge to curse, her hands tightening around her bow. Out of the corner of her eye she can spot the third plume of smoke rising upwards; she's almost out of time.

She spies a bag of apples hung by the outstretched rod of a briefcase at the very top of the pile, and suddenly she knows exactly what to do. If she can just set off the explosions from here…

Katniss slowly reaches behind her and draws out one of her precious arrows. She exhales slowly, forcing her racing heart to slow down. Okay. She can do this. She breathes in, breathes out…

And shoots. The arrow nicks the side of the bag before whizzing past it, barely managing to form even the smallest rip in the bag. She bites her lip, thinking of the pitifully small number of arrows she has left.

She has to make this one count. She carefully notches another arrow and narrows her eyes, squinting at the exact point that she wants to hit. In. Out. Release.

This time the arrow finds its mark, the razor sharp end slicing easily through the bag and sending a cascade of ruby red apples down the pile of supplies.

Katniss watches with bated breath as the first apple bounces off of a sack of onions and falls slowly to the ground.

_Boom!_

Confusion. Pain. Danger.

Katniss blinks blearily, wincing as a sharp piece of shrapnel slams into her arm. She finds herself eight feet away from the place she was just thirty seconds ago; the force of the explosion was much stronger than she thought. She has to get out of here – there's no way the Careers didn't hear that. She struggles to her feet, gasping slightly when she finds that the wound on her thigh has reopened.

Gritting her teeth, Katniss crawls slowly to the relative cover of a small tree. It's nowhere near ideal, but at least it's better than the wide-open place she was in before. She's not sure she can move any further.

She's about to force herself upwards again when she spies a flash of pale golden hair running at a frightfully fast pace towards the center of the clearing.

It's him.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He's running, his feet nimbly dodging the stray pieces of exploded food that litter the ground.

He's angry, the red haze pounding over his eyes until all he can see is red, red, red.

He's panicking, his heart clenching painfully when he sees that _all_ of his food is gone.

Cato reaches the puny boy from 3 and growls, his teeth snapping in an animalistic way. The boy is obviously terrified, and he stammers out a quick excuse.

Excuses won't bring back the food he was too incompetent to defend. Now the stakes are raised; Cato has no choice but to hunt down every last tribute quickly before he starves. Cato isn't blind; he knows he can't survive on the woods. That was never part of the training regimen; it's expected for Careers to take hold of the Cornucopia's supplies. He can almost imagine Enobaria hissing "disgrace" as she turns away in disgust, and everyone in the district rolling their eyes or bending their heads in shame.

Cato snarls, the red pounding over his eyes as he reaches out and snaps the boy's neck in one fluid movement. The boy drops to the ground, his eyes glazed over and staring unseeingly at the trees in the distance.

How could this happen?

He whirls around and punches randomly, his fist colliding into the burning hot remnants of a metal crate. He is vaguely aware of hot flashes of pain shooting up his fingers, but he can't feel it.

All he can feel is shame.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She watches in horror as Cato snaps the boy's neck without even a wince. This monstrous act is what gets her moving; she quickly scrambles to her feet and half-slides, half-limps into the cover of the thick trees.

Time to get to Rue.

She waits until she's a good distance inside the trees before licking her lips and whistling the simple tune Rue's taught her. The mockingjays pick it up quickly and warble it back, the sound echoing and multiplying as bird after bird copies it.

She strains her ears, her hand clenched tightly on her bow as she waits for the answering call.

Nothing.

Feeling a spurt of panic, Katniss tries again.

Nothing.

Now feeling thoroughly worried, Katniss pushes past the trees noisily, not caring if anyone hears her. Rue. Rue. Rue. Flashes of her sweet smile speed through her mind as she runs, her feet sliding painfully against the occasional exposed root.

She pushes past the last tree and explodes into the clearing with the last pile of dry wood. It's unlit.

Katniss resists the urge to go into hysterics as she crashes through the woods once more.

"_RUE!_" she screams, the sound tearing itself from her throat. "_RUE!"_

"_Katniss!"_ the sound is far off…but she's alive. Katniss almost cries with relief before adjusting her direction.

"_Rue!_" she calls again. "_Katniss!_"

She's close enough now that she can hear the underlying current of panic threatening to overtake the young girl's voice. Something's wrong.

Katniss runs faster than she's ever done before, her bow slamming into various trees as she careens through the forest.

She almost cries when she sees Rue caught in a net.

"Don't worry, Rue. I'll get you out of there," she promises, dropping her bag and pulling the serrated knife from her waist. Rue smiles weakly, her fingers pressing against the net. Katniss jerks her arm back and forth quickly, gritting her teeth against the pain the vibrations bring to her sore body.

"Did it work?" Rue whispers. Katniss severs the last tie before saying fiercely, "It worked. You did it."

Rue's small smile grows as she says, "_We_ did it."

Katniss grins back at her, relief causing her body to relax as the reality of what they've just done hits her.

They've destroyed the Career's food. Now they no longer have to worry about getting hunted slowly. Now the Games are on their terms – or, at least as much as they can be. The Careers no longer have an almost unlimited amount of time. She bets that they have no idea how to survive off of the forest…they'll be weak, too angry to think straight.

A determined glint comes to her eye as she grips her knife tightly; she'll do whatever it takes to get out of here alive. She thinks back to the way the Careers stormed into the clearing, shuddering as she thinks of what they could have done to Rue. Odd…she doesn't recall seeing Peeta among them. Why is he no longer with his precious allies? She sneers, her heart still clenching a bit at his utter betrayal.

"Katni-"

She turns to Rue just in time to see a long spear bury itself through her heart. Time stands still for a second as Rue gazes down at the spear protruding from her small chest with wide eyes. She clutches at the spear before sinking to her knees, her mouth still shaped in a small "o" of surprise.

Rage surges through Katniss, and she quickly turns around and flings an arrow into the heart of the attacker. The attacker – some part of her brain that isn't screaming in grief recognizes him to be Marvel – collapses to the ground, his eyes already glazed over with death.

Katniss rushes to catch Rue before she falls to the ground. She cradles Rue's small head in her lap, tears streaming down her face as she gazes down at this poor little girl who had the misfortune of getting roped into this sadistic game.

"Rue…" she moans, struggling to press her fingers on the wound to staunch the blood, to do _something_ other than just sit here and watch her closest friend in these whole damn games bleed to death. Rue smiles weakly, a single crystalline tear trailing down from the corner of her warm brown eyes.

"You'll beat them, right?" she says softly. Katniss nods, too choked up to speak. After a second she collects herself enough to push out a hoarse, "Yes." Rue smiles at that. Her eyes drift upwards to gaze at the clouds above.

"Can you-can you sing for me?" she asks. Katniss has to bend over to catch her words as they fall from her pale lips. She chokes down another sob before nodding fiercely, hot tears dripping down her chin and splashing down on the ground below.

Katniss hasn't sung for what seems like years…

But she sings now.

The words pour from her mouth, each syllable aching with grief and anger. Rue can't die. She's barely lived a decade of her life – she needs to fly around the trees, she needs to love someone, she needs to have kids of her own and teach them to nimbly spring about the forest in that special way only she can do. Rue _can't_ die. She can't.

Not like this. Not ever.

Katniss's voice breaks as she sees the small spark of life drain from Rue's eyes. She gently closes her eyelids with bloody fingers before standing up and gazing down at her broken body. She could be sleeping…it's only the gaping wound in her chest that breaks this illusion.

Katniss screams, slamming her body into the nearest tree and beating it with her fists.

How could this happen? They'd destroyed the Career's food! This wasn't supposed to happen! Rue's laugh, Rue's smile, Rue's mischievous way of teasing her…she'll never see that again.

She kicks the tree angrily before punching it again. She _hates_ them. The Capitol. They've killed her. Her heart is breaking; her heart is tearing itself apart.

She can understand what Haymitch meant when he warned her about getting too close to anyone else. She can understand why he drowns himself in liquor. Anything is better than this pain.

Katniss stands, a grim expression on her face. She knows what she has to do.

She stomps over to the nearest flower bush and almost breaks down in tears when she sees that they're Rue's favorite flower – lavender. She pushes down her grief and plucks as many as she can carry. She walks back to Rue's body and gently lays them around her, tucking them in carefully so that they cover her wound.

After she's finished her task, she stands back and gazes downwards. Rue's mouth is curled up into that sweet smile she's had on even in the face of these bloody games. Katniss angrily swipes at her face to disperse the tears that are now running down her cheeks.

She's breaking.

**AN: Well, that was a nice happy place to leave off on! That was emotionally draining to write. So much angst. So much pain. Anyway, please please please review! **


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

** Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm not making any money off this.**

_Cato_

It's the screams that draw him.

They're full of anger, full of grief. He can relate to that. He draws in quietly, his feet barely rustling as he carefully steps from rock to rock.

He barely manages to swallow his gasp when he spots the dark haired girl from Twelve let out an anguished moan. He swallows as he watches her angrily brush tears from her face. She cradles the small girl from Eleven in her lap. Cato feels uncomfortable; he feels as if he's intruding on some private moment.

He knows what Brutus would be saying right now; kill her while she's distracted. Take her out while you have the change. He can see Marvel's dead body off to the side, and he briefly wonders when he had the chance to get here. After killing the boy from 3, Cato had spat out something about needing space and left the clearing. He hadn't realized that Marvel had left as well.

Cato clenches his fist…but he relaxes it as she begins to sing.

He stares at her, transfixed by the sweet melody dancing from her lips. The notes are clear, pure, unmarred by the bloodied scene around her. They _weep_. He winces from the sheer, unshielded amount of grief poured into the song. It's the most haunting thing he's ever heard. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. It's…indescribable.

The mockingjays are silent; the whole world seems to hold its breath as the last tremulous note trails off. After a brief pause the mockingjays take up her song, their eerily similar tunes swirling together to form one anguished melody.

He watches as she stands up, her legs and arms trembling. She seems to explode, rushing to the nearest tree and kicking at it angrily. Cato remains silent; he doesn't know why he hasn't just gone and killed her yet. Maybe it's because he sees himself in her wild, uncontrolled act of unleashed anger.

Next comes the inevitable breakdown, he thinks to himself. But Twelve doesn't fling herself to the ground and weep; instead, she stands up straight and marches off to the side, shielded by trees so he can no longer see her.

What…?

Just as he's about to go and follow her, she returns with an armload of delicate purple flowers. What is she _doing_?

She lays them gently around the girl's body, unshed tears softening her hard gray eyes. Cato looks away; he's intruding on her mourning. He has no right to be here, no right to see her in this weakened state. His jaw stiffens as he makes up his mind; he'll leave right now and pretend he never saw this. Sure, Enobaria will be ridiculing him for letting such an easy kill go by…but at least he won't have to stay and see anything more that could possibly make Twelve more…well, more like a person. Cato inhales sharply; he _can't_ think of her as a person. She's just another obstacle to his victory. Another number. He stands shakily, bracing himself against the rough bark of the tree in front of him. He turns to go quietly back to the Cornucopia.

"_Rue…_"

He pauses, turning back and cursing himself as he does so. Weak. Pathetic. And yet…he can't go now. Not while she's broken like this.

Twelve sits on the ground, her normally fierce face quivering in utter grief. She looks so…desolate. Like she's given up. It…pains him to see Twelve like this. She's supposed to be strong, brave. She can't let the Capitol do this to her.

He's incredibly stupid. Foolish. And yet, he makes up his mind.

Without giving himself another second to think about the consequences, Cato steps into the clearing.

Twelve is up immediately, her hand swiftly whipping out the serrated knife. Sure, her fingers are trembling, but he's pleased to see that she's still as fierce as ever. She angrily blinks back tears before snarling out, "_You_."

And with that, she throws herself at him, the knife dropping to the ground. Her fingernails claw at his exposed arms, drawing angry red rivulets across his muscle. She is punching, kicking, scratching with a fury he has never seen her have before.

Cato blinks for a second before his reflexes kick in, and he quickly flips her over and pins her to the ground. She struggles, letting out a frustrated scream as he holds her to the forest floor.

"You _killed_ her!" she screams, her eyes burning with a deep hate. Cato struggles to keep her down; she is small, but she possesses a wiry strength that threatens to overcome him.

"I did not," he replies coldly. She scoffs, the bitter laugh wrenching from her throat. Cato flinches before saying, "I did not know Marvel would do that."

"It doesn't matter. You Careers just kill. That's what you're made for, isn't it? Murder. She was _twelve_. She didn't deserve that!"

And suddenly Cato is angry too. How _dare_ she insult his way of life? She doesn't know _anything_ about him. She has no right to judge him.

He tightens his grip around her wrists, and she lets out a strangled gasp of pain.

"You know nothing," he whispers dangerously. She is still half crazed with grief, and she scoffs again.

"She was _twelve_," she repeats softly before looking away. Cato winces as he glances at the small girl's still body. Sure, he wasn't given any breaks at twelve…but obviously Rue is not the type of girl who would even be in training at all. He doesn't know much about her, but from what he has seen, he can tell she is the type of girl who is supposed to be dancing, the type who should be free.

Twelve is furiously trying not to cry, and he can't help but feel deep respect for her bravery. It's not often that he finds someone who can hold herself together as much as she has after such a death.

He sighs before getting off of her stomach.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his hands clenching and unclenching. This goes against everything he's been trained to do – he shouldn't be _talking_ to her. She should be dead by now, and he should be off looking for the next number to kill. Numbers counting down until there is only one Victor.

Twelve stares at him in disbelief before slowly getting to her feet, wincing as she rubs at her wrists. Cato feels an unexpected pang of…remorse? He scowls to himself; this is starting to get dangerous. He needs to leave. He begins to turn on his heels, lifting his foot to take the first step back towards the Cornucopia.

Suddenly a flash of silver flickers in the corner of his eye, and he leaps upwards to nimbly pluck the silver parachute from the air. There's a crudely drawn "12" on the metallic side, and he hands it to Twelve after only a moment's hesitation. He tells himself that he's going to kill her later, so it doesn't matter that he just gave her this mystery gift. It doesn't. He's still in charge of this situation. He's still a Career.

Twelve eyes him suspiciously before snatching it from his hands. She opens it carefully, pausing only when she sees the crusted over blood at the edges. Cato watches curiously; odd, the Capitol is usually meticulous about cleanliness. Why would there be blood among the mentors?

The metal clasp hisses as the package unfolds, revealing a single sheet of creamy paper. Cato inches closer, craning his neck to read the words over her shoulder. Dark brown-red fingerprints mar the paper, and there's a smear of dried blood at the very bottom.

_Katniss._

_ Careful. Something's odd about this year. S is especially touchy. _

_And Katniss – you need to forgive._

_ -H_

Cato's eyebrows furrow; what does _that _mean? H obviously stands for Haymitch, and if he has to guess he'd pinpoint the "S" as Snow. Just as he's about to open his mouth and ask about that last sentence, the ground jolts and he is almost flung to the ground.

He meets Twelve's eyes and sees that his expression of utter confusion is mirrored in her dark eyes. What just happened?

He takes a shaky step towards her…

And the world tears itself apart.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She has no idea what's happening. The last thing she sees clearly is a flash of Cato's dark blue eyes. Then she's flung to the ground as a blast of crippling heat slams into her from behind. Large chunks of warped shrapnel fly through the air and explode as soon as they touch the ground. The earth is split, long, jagged cracks angrily slicing through the forest ground as trees groan and topple over.

She's on her feet as soon as she is physically able to force her legs to behave, barely managing to dodge a burning tree as it shrieks downwards.

Is this some new Capitol trick? She grips her bow tightly, fighting to squash down the rising panic threatening to send her into hysterics. She has to be strong. She begins running, crying out when a heavy branch strikes at her shoulder. She grits her teeth and moves forward, running, running, her matted braid flying behind her as she pushes past burning trees and destruction.

_Crash_.

A burning tree trunk falls right in front of her, the burning embers hissing as they spit at her exposed skin. Tears burn her eyes, making the world bleared. Where is she? Where are the other tributes? She swallows before turning around and running haphazardly. All she can do is run.

_Sssss_.

Katniss looks up just in time to spy a ripple of sickly purple-yellow light come rushing at her.

Then all goes black as she succumbs to nothingness.

XXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

A burning branch strikes at his back, tearing through his shirt easily. The smell of burning flesh fills the air as he jerks forward, his lips still firmly pressed together as he suppresses his yell. His training kicks in as he tumbles to the ground, tucking in his chin so he somersaults smoothly forward and lands on his feet lightly. He's up in an instant, already scanning his surroundings for Twelve. Nothing. She must have left, then. He fights down a brief flash of worry before running through the labyrinth of burning trees.

Why would the Capitol do this? It doesn't make sense; he's studied every single Game, and he knows that the Capitol usually loves when two enemies confront each other. They should be happy that Cato was talking with Twelve; why interrupt the ratings boost with these explosions? It makes no sense.

Clove's smirking face swims through his mind, and he suppresses a sharp gasp; is she all right? He has no way of knowing. He feels a pang of regret as he remembers the way he brushed off her questions earlier this morning. He curses his anger as he runs, his back shrieking from the jarring movements. He'll need to worry about that later; he needs to get to Clove first.

He barely manages to dive forward just in time for a jagged piece of metal comes flying over his head. Cato shakes off the trembling adrenaline before jumping to his feet and running again. Thank goodness he's always been good with directions – he knows exactly where the Cornucopia is. Of course, the falling trees don't help matters. He can only hope Clove knows enough not to go searching for him.

He thinks of the time when he was twelve and prone to running off in fits of childish anger…Clove always ran after him. He curses angrily, increasing his pace until each breath grates painfully against his smoke-filled lungs.

Is this Brutus's way of punishing him for his earlier weakness? Cato doesn't think he can live with himself if Clove dies because of his inability to get rid of Twelve. He snarls, shaking his head forcefully to dispel the red that's threatening to creep over his vision again. He can't afford to be out of control. Not now.

He stumbles over a burning piece of equipment, flinching as the jagged metal bites through the thin material of his suit and draws blood. Cato vaguely recognizes it to be one of the Capitol's hidden cameras. Somewhere in the disoriented, smoke-induced haze of his mind a small spark of unease lights up – why would the Capitol destroy its only way of filming the Tributes? If they were going to go through all this trouble to destroy their own Arena, shouldn't they at least be filming the Tributes?

Cato furrows his brow, anxiety rushing through him. Nothing adds up. All of his years of studying the Capitol can't help him now.

He hurries forward again, glancing up to spot a rush of angry violet light screaming past him. He never stood a chance.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Pain.

Nothing unusual there. Cato forces himself upwards, his mind automatically assessing his injuries. Ripped calf muscle. Shoot. He won't be able to run for a while. Burned back. Gash on right temple. Swollen left wrist.

He smiles grimly to himself; it could have been a lot worse. Satisfied that he will still be able to win the Games, he stands and observes his surroundings. It looks like the Capitol fixed up the Arena while he was unconscious. The forest is restored, the trees quietly rustling in a slight breeze. Mockingjays trill quietly, their warbles meshing together in one smooth melody. The ground is whole once more, the grass looking as if it hadn't been touched in years, let alone have been split in two just a few moments ago. Or hours. Cato isn't entirely sure of how long he's been unconscious.

He needs answers. He swallows his pride, Enobaria's smug face flashing through his mind briefly as he thinks of what he's about to do. He hates giving her the satisfaction of seeing him ask for help…but he has to know what's going on. He has to know where Clove is. Cato shuts his eyes for a second, taking a few deep breaths to try and diminish the omnipresent red fog that follows him everywhere. He can't remember a time when it wasn't there. It's a constant reminder of what he is – a Victor, nothing else. He's not human. He's a machine. He doesn't feel pain. He _certainly_ shouldn't feel this attachment to Clove…or this curiosity towards Twelve. But he does, and he hates himself for it.

Cato groans before opening his eyes and gazing upwards. Although he can't see any of the fake squirrels the Capitol loves to put its cameras in, he knows they're watching – they always are. He opens his mouth, wincing as his chapped lips break open and the bitter taste of blood invades his mouth.

"Two asking for aid," he recites dully. He waits a moment, his eyes squinting as they scan the cloudless sky for the telltale glint of silver that signifies the arrival of the Capitol-issued parachute. Nothing. Panic rises in the form of bile, but Cato clenches his fist and ignores it.

"Two asking for aid," he repeats, his voice just a tad higher.

Nothing. The mockingjays sing on, seeming to taunt him with their endless melody that reminds him annoyingly of Twelve.

"Two asking for aid," he says, his voice rising a bit with hysteria. When nothing happens, he whirls around and punches the nearest tree, the tender skin on his knuckles splitting open. He watches with grim fascination as the scarlet blood mixes with the dark brown dirt of the bark before barking out a bitter laugh.

He's alone.

**AN: Thanks for reading! Please please please review! Thanks so much for people who have reviewed! Seriously, I smiled so much when I read the kind words! :) This chapter finally started to bring in the AU, so be prepared! ;D**


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_Cato_

One. Two. Three.

Cato's taken to counting his steps in some panicked way of trying to keep his sanity. He's a Career…but he's never been trained to deal with situations like this. Over the past few hours, Cato's examined every area he knows to be a popular camera placement…but he's found nothing. In fact, the entire Arena is altered. It's a subtle difference, but Cato isn't a Career for nothing. The trees' bark is rougher, the leaves a bit broader, even the _air_ smells different. It smells like wet spring and damp moss. The Arena smelled like blood and metal.

Cato suppresses the fear that's been threatening to consume him over these past few hours; the fear that something happened that the Capitol didn't plan. The fear that no one was watching him. The fear that he was no longer in the Arena at all but somewhere frighteningly different.

Stop it, Cato, he scolds himself angrily. You're a Career. Start acting like one. He can imagine Clove's disapproving look if she saw him like this. He resists the urge to laughs, instead sighing wearily and getting back on his feet. Time to move on.

He quietly slips through the narrow opening between two oak trees, his hand absently going to the sword at his hip.

He pauses, his eyes widening as he spies a scrap of torn cloth dangling from a low branch. His heart quickens as he quickly approaches it, recognizing it to be part of the jumpsuit each Tribute was fitted with. Does this mean the Games are still on? Maybe he wasn't actually sent to some strange land! He could still win the Games, still bring pride to his district!

Feeling considerably energized, a slow smile curled its way onto Cato's face. He took a predatory stance and crept forward, his eyes scanning the ground meticulously for any signs. He is a hunter doing what he does best.

There! A dried splotch of blood mars a yellowed leaf. He notes the way the left side is slightly pointed, suggesting that the victim was running when the blood fell. He turns to the right and resumes his silent walk, his sword held easily by his right hand.

The blood drops appear more frequently; the victim must have lost the energy to run. He follows the trail, his eyes tracing the path up to a huddled figure about five feet to his right. He adjusts his grip, a determined glint coming to his eye. He can still make this right.

He runs up the small hill, bringing up his arm to slash down quickly. Just as about the smooth blade is about to hit its mark, he shudders to a stop. No. It can't be! His arm trembles as he gazes down at Twelve's unconscious body. A dampened curl of dark mahogany rests gently against her cheek, her face strangely devoid of its usual grimace.

Weak. Disgrace. Pathetic.

Enobaria's voice rings through his mind, and Cato slowly brings up his arm again. It'll be a quick death, painless. He has no reason to feel this…this…_guilt_. He closes his eyes and brings his arm down.

God, he can't do this. Feeling utterly disgusted with himself, Cato angrily sheaths his sword and whirls, kicking at the nearest tree. A flock of mockingjays flies up from the upper branches of the tree, tittering angrily at his actions. He snarls at them, but they ignore his threat and continue to jabber loudly. He groans, clutching his head; he still has a huge headache from the blows he received earlier.

He glares down at Twelve's unconscious form before stooping down to roughly lift her up. He tells himself that this is part of his strategy – as a fellow Tribute, it's better to see if she knows anything about what happened. Besides, he can always kill her later.

He shoves down the irritating thought that if he doesn't kill her now, he'll never be able to.

XXXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She moans, shifting slightly as she feels sharp rocks uncomfortably digging into the small of her back. A cool hand is on her immediately, long fingers resting gently on her upper arm. She tenses at the contact and jerks awake, hissing when the sudden movement spends daggers of pain up and down her back and leg.

Dark sapphire eyes gaze back at her, looking almost violet in the dim light of…wherever she is. Cato.

"What happened?" she asks hoarsely.

"I was hoping you could tell me," he answers gruffly, moving away once he was satisfied that she wasn't about to keel over again. Katniss scowls. Cato smirks at that, leaning back arrogantly against the smooth wall of the cave. Katniss's frown deepens; she _hates_ when people laugh at her.

"Why are you doing this?" she snaps. Cato's eyes darken and his cocky smirk slips away.

"I don't know," he answers. Seeing that she's about to snort at his answer, he adds, "Maybe it's because you're the only other Tribute I've seen in hours."

Katniss blinks; what? That didn't make sense! Usually this late in the Games the Gamemakers tended to shove the Tributes together for more "exciting" confrontations. Seeing her confused look, Cato says, "Twelve. I haven't seen a camera in ages. No word from the Mentors. Nothing." His words have an almost panicked hint to them. This is the first time she's seen Cato as anything but confident. This frightens her a bit; if even the Capitol's lapdog is nervous, what does that mean for her? Katniss shoves this fear down and stands up, wincing as she tries to put weight on her injured leg.

"Wouldn't try that if I were you," Cato says shortly. Katniss shoots him a venomous scowl before trying again. She limps to the opening of the cave, peering out at the seemingly innocent forest outside.

Her brows furrow as she takes in the woods; they're completely different from the trees of the Arena. Where _are_ they? The last thing she remembers is…

The explosions!

She whirls around, ignoring the sharp pains from the sudden movement.

"_Cato_. Where are we?" she asks. He looks annoyed, but somehow Katniss senses that he's annoyed at himself instead of her.

"I don't _know_," he growls, leaning over to punch the wall. Katniss watches in silence, noting how his knuckles are already bloodied over. Fantastic. She's stuck in a cave with some Career who clearly is about to snap at any second now.

Katniss reaches for her bow, but freezes when she realizes it's not strapped to her back. Cato seems to sense her panic, for he merely jerks his head towards the back of the cave. Katniss warily follows his gaze, breathing a sigh of relief when she sees the bow's comfortingly familiar shape resting against the back of the small cave. She eyes him suspiciously before darting over and snatching it up, swinging an arrow into its perch easily and pointing it at his heart. Cato doesn't look surprised at this; in fact, he looks like he was expecting it.

Katniss holds her stance for another few tense seconds before slowly lowering it, still keeping her hands tightly gripped on the bow.

"Look, I don't trust you," she began. "Feeling's mutual," Cato interjected. She shot him a glare before continuing coldly, "But Haymitch obviously knew something was going to happen. Something big. And, well, it's obviously happened. And right now you're the only one I know in this blasted place. But I need to know that you're not going to turn around and kill me in my sleep."

Cato looks offended at that, and he says indignantly, "That would be dishonorable. I'd only kill you when you have the ability to fight back. Like right now, for instance." Katniss quickly swings the bow up again, her eyes narrowing as she pinpoints the exact place she is aiming to hit. Cato holds up his hands.

"Relax, Twelve. I gave you your bow, didn't I?" Katniss blinks; he did. He's obviously regretting that decision now. She rolls her eyes before lowering her arrow again.

"All right, what have you found out?"

Cato becomes serious again, his voice taking on a precise, mechanical quality as he recites, "Temperate deciduous forest. Similar to Arena. No traces of human life found. No traces of prior explosions. Attempts to contact Mentors failed. No cameras. No-no other tributes found." His voice catches a bit on the last bit, and she can see that he's thinking of his fellow tribute – that knife-crazed girl. Odd. She never thought a Career was supposed to get so attached to a fellow competitor. Weren't they all about becoming the Victor?

Cato seems to follow her thoughts, for he shoots her a deadly glare. Katniss lifts her chin defiantly, refusing to back down from this boy's gaze. Sure, he's dragged her to this cave and given her the bow. That doesn't mean she has to like or even trust him. Right now, she just wants to find some way to get back to Prim. Prim. Her heart catches a bit as she remembers her delicate sister. What if she never gets back h-

No. She can't let herself think that way. Thinking that way would only lead to pain. She nods tersely at Cato, and he returns the gesture with an equal amount of unease.

She jerkily offers her hand, and he eyes it warily.

"Truce?"

He slowly takes her hand, enveloping her small hand with his hardened one.

"Truce."

His dark blue eyes pin hers. She can't see anything in them – just dark, impenetrable voids. Katniss looks away, slipping her hand from his loose grasp.

They won't try to kill each other. At least not yet. She can't die at this boy's hands – she has to get back to Prim.

"We're obviously not in the Games anymore," she says pointedly. The boy grunts before stalking out of the cave. She follows him slowly, her alert eyes drinking in every aspect of her surroundings.

"You won't win even if you kill me," she adds when it's clear he's not going to reply. The boy explodes, swinging backwards and pinning her against a nearby tree. She struggles to wrench free of his grasp, but he's too strong. Dark spots begin to appear at the corner of her eyes as he presses closer, his arm jutting painfully against her throat.

"_Don't _speak to me of winning," he hisses before letting her go. She tries to breathe subtly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her wheeze. He sneers before stalking forward, leaving her to collapse to the ground and gasp for breath in privacy.

Katniss clenches her fists; she _hates_ him. Stupid Capitol lapdog. Can't he _see_ that they're obviously not in the Games anymore? Something's happened. She doesn't know what, but she does know that they won't be getting out anytime soon if he insists on doing this. He _needs_ her. He probably wouldn't last a day in these woods. He doesn't know which leaves are edible and which would leave you in cramps so painful they tear up your insides.

She catches up to him, quirking her eyebrow when she sees that he's studying something intently. She approaches him warily, her hand resting on the serrated knife at her waist. He doesn't glance up at her, instead turning over a small dagger between his scarred hands.

"What is it?" she asks. He looks up at her then, and she's surprised to see real grief in his eyes. The yellow-grey flecks in his left pupil swirl together and contrast sharply with the dark blue-violet color surrounding it.

"Clove," he breathes. Katniss pauses, her emotions conflicting; yes, she hates him for what he's done to her. She hates him for what his district stands for. She hates him for rejoicing in these sadistic Games that leave nothing but death in their wake. And yet…she can relate to his pain. If Clove is anything like Rue and Prim are to her…Cato seems to see something in her face, and his face abruptly closes off.

"This is her dagger. She'll be near here," he says shortly, standing up and tucking the dagger carefully beside his sword. Katniss opens her mouth but closes it slowly. She owes him nothing. She doesn't need to comfort him.

"Let's go," she says coldly, remembering how his district is always well fed, always bloodthirsty.

They walk in silence for what seems like days, but Katniss knows from the sun's placement that they've only been trudging along for two hours. Her stomach is uncomfortably empty, but she can live through it. She has before. Katniss glances over at Cato, feeling a twinge of unease at how his face is so emotionless. How does she know he's not going to explode again? She fingers her knife nervously.

"You can relax, you know," he says quietly. She glances sharply at him, but he doesn't look back at her. He lifts a branch out of the way, and she ducks quickly under it.

"Not likely," she says finally.

"Look…I…regret my prior actions. I'm sorry for shoving you," he says slowly. Katniss pauses at that. She never thought the Career would apologize to her.

She's about to reply – what, she doesn't know – when she sees a flash of red-stained golden blonde hair and flings herself forward, her heart beating erratically.

Peeta.

She rushes forward, hurriedly lifting the smoldering branch from his chest. He's motionless, his face deathly pale and angry scarlet burns wrapping their way up his arms and neck. His stomach is torn open, serrated chunks of metal burning from within his flesh. Katniss resists the urge to gag, her hands bleeding as she struggles to lift the last heavy branch from his legs. All of a sudden the branch lifts easily, and she looks up to see Cato's face above her. He has an almost…pitying expression on his face. She turns away angrily, not wanting him to feel sorry. He has nothing to feel sorry for – Peeta is _not_ dead.

She bends over quickly, her breath quickening when she realizes there is no answering thud of his heart. No. No. NO.

Katniss is barely aware of wet droplets splashing onto Peeta's charred skin; is it raining? She dimly realizes that she's crying.

"_PEETA_!" she groans, a low, guttural sound coming from the very depths of her stomach. Images rapidly flash through her mind – Peeta, throwing that charred loaf for her all those years ago. Peeta, smiling weakly at her on the Reaping day. Peeta, proclaiming his love for her with Caesar. Was that real? She'll never know now…never have a chance to see if she returns his feelings.

No. He's not dead – he _can't_ be. Even the Capitol can't hate her this much – she's already lost Rue. She's can't lose someone else.

"_PEETA!"_ she shrieks again, sobbing uncontrollably as she bends over and tries to blow life into his body. She comes away bloody, but Peeta doesn't stir.

"_PEETA!"_

She tries again, thumping at his chest in some half-crazed effort to restart his heart. She's seen her mother do this, once. Damnit! Why didn't she pay attention?

Warm arms encircle her body, and she screams loudly, shoving her head backwards and colliding painfully with the jaw of her attacker.

"Twelve."

She gazes at Peeta's still body – her last tie to her district. She struggles forward again, clawing at the arms keeping her away from him. Maybe if she tries again – maybe he'll come back. He can't leave her here. He _can't_.

"Twelve! Twel-_Katniss_!"

It's the shock of hearing her name from his lips that finally jolts her back to reality. She allows herself to go limp, the stress of the Games finally catching up to her. Rue. Peeta. What next? The arms relax their hold, but she doesn't leave.

She presses close to the boy who represents all she hates and cries.

**Author Note: Good lord these chapters are so painful to write. Seriously. I'm not sure how many more character deaths I can handle. Anyway, please please please review! I seriously love reading them, and they really motivate me to write more chapters! ;D**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

_Cato_

He freezes. What does he do now? Twelve's face is buried against his chest, her long braid tickling his bare arm. He hesitates for another moment before slowly bringing his arms closer to his body, enveloping her small warmth with his own.

This feels…weird. Cato's not sure if it's a good weird or a bad weird. Twelve sniffs a bit before lifting her head from his chest and tilting her chin up. Her usually hard gray eyes are wet, and her bottom lip quivers a bit before she laughs bitterly. She's obviously feeling quite uncomfortable about crying so openly in front of him. He watches silently as she opens her mouth.

"God, this is pathetic," she says before casting her eyes away from him. Cato suddenly feels an urgent need to reassure this spirited girl that it's not pathetic to mourn loved ones. For that's what Blonde Softie must have been for her – he hadn't realized they were actually together, but from Twelve's reaction she must have been quite close to him.

"No."

She blinks, meeting his eyes once more. "No?" she repeats.

"No, it's not pathetic. Do you…um, do you want to say a few words?" Cato feels incredibly uncomfortable; he's not used to being around emotional girls. Usually the only crying people do around him is when they're getting beaten to the ground. Twelve takes a long, shaky breath before stepping away from him and staring at the ground. Cato eyes her curiously, noting with a hint of amusement that her cheeks are now a deep red.

"Yeah," she mutters before clenching her fists tightly by her sides and going towards Blonde Softie once more. Cato watches silently as she fumbles with the lapel of her jacket for a moment. Her hand comes down, and his quick eyes catch a glimpse of bronze as she lays a circular object on Blonde Softie's chest.

"My district symbol," she explains without looking at him. He stiffens for a moment; are his emotions that clear to her? That's dangerous – he can't stand the thought that anyone can even guess at what he's thinking. His mind is the only place where Cato can truly be himself. A tinge of red colors the edges of his body, but it quickly disappears when he sees that Twelve's shoulders are trembling.

How old is she? Sixteen? Seventeen? In District 2 she would be training every day…but he can't imagine what she would be doing in District 12. Probably going to school, laughing with her family…he remembers the blonde girl who was so stricken by her volunteering.

He tentatively lays a hand on her shoulder, and she whirls around with a guarded expression on her face. When she sees it's him, she doesn't immediately scream, run away, or do anything he's been expecting. No. She crashes into him and hugs him, her shoulders heaving violently as she cries.

Cato's never really liked physical contact. Clove has never expressed an interest in hugging him, only touching him to playfully tackle him to the ground or kick him when she got annoyed. He pats Twelve's soft hair awkwardly, his eyes automatically scanning for cameras. Right. No cameras here…

He sighs heavily; what does he do now? His whole life – his whole _existence_ was designed to win the Games. Now that he's no longer in the Games…what now? He has to find some way to get back to the Capitol and get some answers. Maybe he can get a reentry and try again.

He's distracted by his thoughts by the sudden coldness on his stomach. Twelve has drawn back, and she angrily rubs at her eyes.

"I feel so helpless," she says, obviously irritated at her show of weakness. Cato doesn't reply, instead leading the solemn march onwards.

She follows after a moment, and when Cato chances a quick glance at her, he's pleased to see that she has a determined scowl firmly placed on her face again.

Clove. He can only hope she hasn't ended up like Blonde Softie…he doesn't know if he can handle that loss.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She can't look at him. How can she, knowing that she was sobbing at his stomach just two hours ago? Her cheeks burn as she remembers the pathetic way she just fell apart. She's worse than the town girls back in 12 who used to screech at Greasy Sue's famous stew.

Her grip on the knife tightens, and she revels in the power she feels as she clutches its deadly length. At least she has a weapon…just in case. She narrows her eyes at Cato. She still expects him to explode and attack her…he's been uncomfortably quiet. The dimming sunlight flickers through his white-blonde hair, and she marvels at how it appears to look absolutely colorless. So different from his dark eyes.

Her fingers go towards the empty space at her jacket where her mockingjay pin used to hang. Peeta. She feels so…so _helpless_. Everyone she cares about is dying. She has no idea where she is or how she even got there. The only human contact she's had in the past day is with the silent boy from 2 who's bound to snap and kill her any second now.

She frowns, her mouth curling into a determined smirk; well, he'll _try_ to kill her. She's certainly going to fight back with all she's got. For Prim.

Prim. Her mother. Gale. Hell, she's even missing _Buttercup_. Will she ever see them again?

Her stomach growls loudly, distracting her from her painful memories. The sound stands out loudly in the comparative silence of the forest. Cato's head whips around, and he regards her with faint annoyance. Katniss flushes but juts her chin up rebelliously.

"We need food," she says stiffly. Cato looks as if he's about to protest, and he glances off in the distance impatiently.

"I need to fi-" he begins.

"You won't be finding anyone in this darkness if we're both half starved. We need to rest," she interrupts. The sun has set sometime in the past five minutes, casting everything in dark gloom. If she squints she can make out faint shapes; nowhere near enough light to hunt…but then again, she isn't the average hunter. She thinks grimly of the times back in 12 where she's had to steal away in the dead of night to shoot down something – _anything_ to chase away the greedy hunger that threatened to cripple her family.

Cato nods, a troubled expression still in his eyes. Katniss softens; she knows how worried he's feeling, but there's no way they will find Clove – or anyone else for that matter – in this darkness. Katniss brushes aside a few branches until she finds a suitable clearing shielded by a couple of tall maple trees.

"Start a fire here, will you? I'll try and hunt something," she says confidently. Career boy might be an expert in winning and physical combat, but this is _her_ territory. Cato seems to realize this, for he doesn't protest and merely begins to collect dry kindling from the ground.

Katniss eyes him warily for another second before notching an arrow and sliding quietly from the clearing.

Her eyes adjust to the rapidly dimming light as she slows her breathing. In. Out. Her ears prick up at every sound as she forces herself to empty her mind. There! She swings her arms around and releases her grip, sending an arrow screaming through the air before landing with a dull _thud_ in its target. She approaches the animal quickly, scooping it up and noting with satisfaction that the arrow pierced cleanly through its eye.

A pang of sadness sears through her as she remembers how Peeta had been so adamant about extolling her archery skills to Haymitch. Peeta…she shakes herself, scolding herself for being so distracted. She has to focus on getting back home. That's all that matters.

She tucks the rabbit under her arm and head back towards the clearing.

The cheery sound of wood crackling greets her before she even steps foot in the clearing. She enters it as quietly as she can, but of course Career boy whirls around the instance she enters. He relaxes when he sees it's her and turns back to gaze at the fire.

Katniss sits a comfortable distance away and draws out her knife, drawing it swiftly under the rabbit's dark fur. She smiles a bit at herself as she thinks of how Prim gasped and nearly fainted when she tried to show her how to skin animals. Prim was in tears for _weeks_ after the incident. A lone tear drops on the rabbit's leg, and she angrily swipes at her eyes before stabbing the rabbit leg she's just severed with a sharpened stick. She hands it brusquely to Cato before roughly slicing the rest of the rabbit into manageable portions.

She joins Cato by the fire, holding her stick towards the fire. Her mouth waters as the delicious smell of crackling rabbit meat fills the air, and she quickly glances around the dark outskirts of the clearing; predators are known to follow the scent of cooking meat if they're hungry enough.

Cato seems to share her worry, for his shoulders are tense and his knuckles white as they clench the stick.

Katniss feels oddly comforted knowing that this Career is – however temporarily – on her side.

"How did you meet Clove?" the question escapes from her lips before she can stop them. Cato glances sharply at her, but she merely lifts her eyebrows, refusing to back down.

He finally shrugs before answering, "Training partners. I've known her since I was ten." He gazes at the fire again, his hands tightening around the stick until it snaps. The sound is sharp, ricocheting across the silent clearing. It's as if the whole forest is listening to his words.

"She's like my sister," he continues after a brief pause. Katniss nods, her mind flashing to Rue.

"Why did you volunteer?" the question is sudden, unexpected.

"To save my sister," she answers honestly. When she looks over, she can see that Cato's eyebrows are furrowed. She resists the urge to roll her eyes; well, looks like Career boy couldn't understand the concept of family loyalty – no, that wasn't right. He obviously felt _some _sort of attachment towards Clove. Katniss bit her lip; nothing fit with him. Was he a ruthless Career? Or was he the boy that searched frantically for his friend?

"That's the first volunteer District 12's ever seen," he says.

"I know."

A comfortable silence fell as they both ate the remaining meat from the rabbit bones.

"Cato…do you know what happened?" Cato frowns, throwing the bone forcefully into the fire. It explodes, sending molten bone shards past Katniss's face. She flinches, and Cato mutters a quick "sorry" before answering her question.

"I have no idea. This has never happened before…it's like we're not even in the Games anymore," he says angrily. Katniss resists the urge to say a flippant "obviously."

"I saw a purple flash right before I…I blacked out. I think that has to do with this. Maybe some big explosion was enough to…" her voice drifts off as she realizes the utter foolishness of what she's saying.

"An explosion strong enough to transport us miles away in a similar forest?" Cato finishes derisively. She scowls, clenching her fists around her knife.

"Relax, Twelve. I thought of that briefly too. Right now it's the best I can come up with," he says, his voice full of pent up frustration. She eyes him warily before sighing.

"I just want to go home," she says quietly.

Cato doesn't answer.

She doesn't know why she even bothers to talk to him. She scowls at the fire before stalking off to an area opposite of Career boy. No reason to get too close to him. Katniss settles to the ground, kicking a few pointed branches out of the way. She tucks the bow protectively underneath her arm before settling down.

Time to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He stays awake, staring at the foreboding darkness surrounding the small circle of light the fire provides. What's he doing? He casts a troubled glance at Twelve's sleeping form before quickly looking away. Brutus would kill him if he knew that he was willingly spending all this time with Twelve without even attempting to kill her.

He doesn't know why he hasn't killed her yet. Maybe it's because she's the only semblance of home he has left. Maybe it's the idea of quenching that spirited flame once and for all that makes him hesitate. Cato scowls, clenching his fists in his lap; admirable strength or not, Twelve will have to go eventually.

A crease appears between his eyebrows as he rests his chin between his hands, propping up his arms with his bruised knees. Where is Clove? Where are the other Tributes? He thinks of all the Tributes left…or at least the ones left before the explosion. Himself. Clove. Twelve. The redheaded girl from 5. Thresh.

Thresh poses a definite problem. The boy is much larger than he is, and Cato isn't foolish enough to believe that he can physically overcome him if it comes down to a battle of strength. His frown deepens; if he kills someone, will the cannon still go off? Will it still count for anything? He shakes his head quickly to dispel the troubling thoughts.

He can't give up hope. He just needs to get back so the Games can resume. He might need to form temporary alliances now…but as soon as he gets back, he can still win this. He has to.

The gashes on his back have broken open, and he can feel warm blood trickling down his back. Cato sighs in annoyance, not budging from his perch on a log. He'll bandage it if the blood loss gets to dangerous levels. Until then, it's not a big deal. He's certainly had worse. His expression darkens as he thinks of his years of training. Have the districts been alerted to the glitch in the Games? They must have seen it – the coverage is live after all.

He wonders what his family is thinking. Are they worried? He dismisses that idea quickly, letting out a soft laugh at the utter foolishness of it. No, they're probably just wondering if they can still get some money out of it.

A slight rustling sounds to his left, and he's on his feet in an instant. His sword rests comfortably in his left hand, his shoulders bunched up as he stares at the uncomfortably dark gloom. His eyes can't penetrate the darkness; all he can see is black.

_Ssssss_.

He approaches the noise cautiously, his feet gliding quietly across the damp grass.

_Wham_!

A heavily coiled, incredibly heavy lithe form slams into him, a thick rope-like object encircling his arm and clenching painfully against his skin. He grits his teeth, struggling to break free of its hold. God, he hates snakes. He grabs the snake's head with his left fist just before it sinks its fangs into his neck. He staggers backwards under its weight, choking for breath as it tightens around his chest and arm. Damnit. He almost cries out when the snake's razor sharp scales grate against the wounds on his shoulder and back, struggling to bring his sword down on its body. The snake lunges forward again, and it's all Cato can do to prevent it from sinking its teeth into his flesh.

Panic rears its ugly head in him as he feels his strength waning. He _hates_ feeling helpless. He did not train all his life to be killed by a freaking snake! The red haze spreads across his eyes until all he can see is a deep, bloody scarlet. He wrenches his arms free of the snake's hold, ignoring the sickening scraping sounds his skin makes as it tears from the scales. Cato flings himself to the ground, smashing the snake underneath his weight. It hisses, spitting a burning acid onto his left shoulder. The smell of burning flesh fills the air, and Cato roars, slamming the hilt of his sword down onto its body. The heavy blow glances off its head, and it slumps to the ground.

It's not enough.

Cato snarls, flinging himself forward and stabbing it repeatedly. In. Out. In. Out. He is dimly aware of a high voice screaming his name, but he ignores it. This snake will pay. He grunts, swinging his arm down once more.

"_Cato!_"

He drops his sword and tries to crush the snake's head with his bare fists, its metallic scales biting into the skin of his palms.

"_CATO!_"

A little more…there. He smiles viciously as he feels the snake's head collapse, its skull crushed. Splinters of white bone pierce the purplish brain within the snake's metallic silver scales.

The red recedes a bit, crowing with happiness at his victory. Cato thrives on winning. He has to win everything.

A dull object glances off his ear, and he whirls around. Twelve. The red surges back, and he takes a deliberate step towards her. How _dare_ she hit him? He can crush her with a single blow. The red haze surges back, whispering encouragements at him. He doesn't _need_ her. He can survive on his own.

Twelve looks a bit frightened, but this fear is quickly masked by a defiant scowl.

She lifts her chin up in that infuriating way she's known for, her dark hair curling wildly as it breaks free of her braid.

"Cato. It's dead," she says firmly, her voice unwavering. He blinks, gripping at his head with bloodied hands.

What's he doing? The red recedes reluctantly, and Cato is suddenly aware of the deep wounds lining his body.

He manages a wry smile; well, now _this_ is the amount of blood loss sufficient enough to merit a bandage.

And then everything fades to darkness.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please review! I seriously loved reading all the reviews, so thank you to reviewers! :)**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

_Katniss_

She hesitates for a moment, staring at Cato's still form. He's bleeding profusely from several wounds lining his arms, his stomach, his back, his legs. She feels sick and turns, dry heaving into a patch of grass. She's never been good with blood. She allows herself a wry smile – how ironic, seeing as she was just in the Games.

She nudges the snake hesitantly with her foot; it rolls over but doesn't move. It's been mutilated, the scales bent and twisted and its head crushed. Its scales are an unnatural shade of silver, and it's the longest snake she's ever seen – around twenty feet long. When she gingerly picks up a scale, it slices through her skin and she drops it with a hiss. A muttation. Katniss bites her lip; she's never heard of a genetically altered snake, but she supposes it's possible. Why hasn't the Capitol gotten rid of it yet? It's been decades since muttations were used during the rebellions. She thought the only muttations left were trackerjackers and mockingjays.

Cato lets out a muffled sigh, and Katniss rushes to him. His face is deathly pale, and his closed eyelids are convulsing erratically. Shoot. Katniss is surprised by the strength of her emotions – she doesn't want him to die. Cato. The Career. The Capitol lapdog. She should hate him…and yet, she can't just let him bleed to death.

So, even though she knows he wouldn't do the same for her, she helps him. Katniss grits her teeth and shoves him so he's lying on his back. She resists the urge to gag when she sees his back. It resembles a bloodied steak more than a human torso. She thinks of the meager supply of bandages in her backpack and frowns; it won't be nearly enough. Her eyes drift to the brown backpack Cato had been carrying earlier – maybe she'll find something in there. He's a Career – he should have better supplies.

She scoops the bag up and rummages through it, noting the contents with a grim satisfaction. Two rolls of stale bread. One roll of gauze. Two rolls of thick bandages. A needle. A spool of fine thread. Some type of paste. Two knives. A packet of herbs.

She carefully removes the needle, thread, and bandages, making sure to avoid the knives' sharp tips. She pads over to Cato's still form and manages to thread the string through the eye of the needle after several tries. Katniss is nervous; she has no idea if the snake has any companions. She's completely vulnerable right now. She can't tend to Cato and keep an eye out on the forest at the same time. She glances up at the sky; the deep midnight has lightened to a dusky blue-violet, but the sun won't rise for another hour or so. Plenty of time for some more muttations to attack them.

But she can't just _leave_ him. Cato twitches, moaning softly. The ground underneath him is stained a dark red; the smell of blood is sure to draw predators. Katniss glances nervously around the clearing before placing the needle carefully on a flat rock. She rummages through the bag again and retrieves the packet of herbs. Running her hands through its contents, she smiles to herself when she identifies them as thyme. It's a token of how ridiculously cocky the Careers are – who bothers to bring _flavoring_ herbs to a battle to the death – but it'll work very well for masking the scent. She finds a hollowed out rock and places the herbs carefully in the niche, placing the rock near the flames of the campfire. Soon the clearing is full of the smell of thyme, masking the bitter scent of fresh blood.

It'll have to do.

Katniss hurries back to Cato's form and closes her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. She feels a bit faint, and she wishes fiercely that Prim was here. She'd know what to do. She gingerly places the needle's tip against the closest of the multiple gashes lining his back. Okay. She can do this.

An hour later, she's managed to sew up all of the major gashes and bandage his back and arms. She wasn't exactly sure what the paste was for, but she smeared it on the gash on his forehead anyway. There is a severe burn mark on his left shoulder, the skin looking like it had been eaten away by some acid. She'd shuddered at that, casting a wary look at the snake's decimated corpse.

She'd also bandaged up some of her wounds, finally managing to place a decent binding on the burn on her thigh. Now she waits, her chin resting on her knees as she hugs her legs to her chest. The sun is slowly making its ascent, throwing splashes of orange and deep red across the sky. Katniss observes Cato's sleeping form quietly. The snake had injured him severely…but the wounds on his back had looked like they'd occurred before. How did he fight through all that pain? He hadn't even looked like he felt the pain. She shudders, glad that the Games seem to have ended. She's still unsure of how she would have gotten rid of him. If the Games do somehow resume, it'll be harder to think about…well, killing him. It was easier when she still thought of him as an animal, some sort of Capitol watchdog.

She bites her lip, thinking of the way he'd looked so…out of control earlier that night. He hadn't even seemed to hear her. She isn't stupid; she knows he was probably going to kill her last night. So why did he stop?

Questions whirl through her mind, and she shakes her head forcefully to dispel them. She has to focus. She cocks her head to one side, her eyes tracing his perfectly symmetrical features. She can see why the Capitol escort for Two kept crowing about his perfect facial features. She scowls; he doesn't deserve to look like that. In a perfect world, murderers would look evil and twisted.

But then again…she supposes she's a murderer as well. She laughs bitterly, thinking of the way she'd shot Marvel without even thinking about it. Does killing a murderer lessen the deed at all? Did it make a difference? Katniss thinks of Marvel's grieving family and sighs. Of course it doesn't.

Her mind wanders to Haymitch's note. She reaches down to grab a fistful of grass, crumpling it angrily as she goes over the words for what seems like the hundredth time. "Forgive"? What was he playing at? Her eyes drift back to Cato. Does Haymitch mean she should ally herself with him?

She angrily dumps the grass back on the ground and jolts to her feet. She's had enough with all these questions. She needs to _do_ something. She paces around the clearing before casting one final look at Cato and disappears through the trees.

Katniss settles into her usual routine, her hand sliding comfortably to their usual placements on her bow. She cranes her neck, peering through the early morning light for her next target. She catches herself before she calls for Gale to flush out some birds, a lump coming to her throat as she remembers that she's not back in 12. _Get a grip of yourself, Katniss_, she thinks fiercely, her hands tightening on the silver bow.

She's so caught up with her thoughts she doesn't stop to think about _why_ she hasn't seen any animals for the past twenty minutes. The hairs on her back prickle, and she throws herself to the ground just in time to barely miss getting hit by a dagger.

She flings herself to the right, dried out sticks crackling loudly under her weight as another knife goes whistling past her. Clove.

Katniss scrambles to her feet and jumps behind a large boulder. Another knife clatters against the smooth rock. How many knives does Clove _have_? She readies an arrow and peers cautiously over the rock's edge.

Another knife comes screaming at her, and she ducks just in time. The knife impales the tree directly behind her.

"Stop hiding, coward!" Clove sounds almost hysterical, and Katniss can just make out her rapidly advancing form. Katniss is just about to shoot when she realizes just_ who _is back at the clearing. This isn't the Games anymore.

"Did you ask your precious little Mentor for this to happen? Did you bribe a few people to change up the Arena? _Did you_?" Clove shrieks, and suddenly she's next to Katniss. Katniss gulps, Clove's strong arm pinning her to the boulder. A knife kisses her throat softly, whispering hungrily as a thin red line appears against her olive skin.

Does Clove still think this is part of the Games?

"Cl-Clove. Cato's-"

Clove's blue-green eyes flash and she steps away. Katniss collapses on the ground, clutching at her throat. She glares up at the fifteen year old and struggles to her feet. She hasn't gone through all this trouble to save her district mate to get treated like _this_.

"What about Cato?" Clove hisses, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Katniss eyes her coolly before saying, "He's back at the clearing. Clove. The Games have ended."

Clove's eyes darken, and she slides her fingers menacingly against the dagger's smooth length.

"If you're lying…" she leaves the threat unsaid, and Katniss nods curtly.

"Follow me," she says, keeping a wary eye on Clove. To her surprise, Clove sheaths her knife and follows silently.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

He groans, heaving himself upwards. A jolt of pain flashes through his back as his muscles stretch, and he when he cranes his neck backwards he can spot the trailing ends of a slightly off-white bandage wrapped around his waist. What? His eyebrows furrow as he becomes aware of the bandages encasing his shoulder and back. He peels the end of one off and notes the slightly messy stitches underneath. It's nowhere near the level of neatness he's been trained to do during his courses…but it's decent.

Why would Twelve do this for him? It makes no sense. He can't see any possible tactical advantage she could gain from the action…unless she wants to lull him into a false sense of security. But if she'd wanted to do that, then she wouldn't have slept on the other side of the fire and thrown him such obviously wary looks.

"_CATO!_" He looks up to see Clove's slender form running towards him. "Clove," he breathes. He leaps to his feet and runs towards her as she crashes into him, her short hair slapping his arms.

"Cato, what's happening?" she asks, pulling away from him. He is suddenly struck by just how _young_ she is. Clove's brashness usually makes her seem much older, but she's only fifteen. Unease shines in her usually guarded eyes, and she flips a dagger between her fingers quickly.

"I don't know," he answers honestly. Clove frowns, shooting a wary glance back at Twelve. Cato follows her gaze; Twelve seems to be giving them space.

"What's _she_ doing? Why haven't you killed her yet?" Clove says heatedly. Cato frowns, doubt swirling through his mind. Why _hasn't _he killed her? He has Clove back now – he doesn't need her anymore. And yet…she's the one who brought Clove to him. Cato curses the part of him that's too weak to extinguish her spirit.

Pathetic.

Cato says stiffly, "It won't count to the Games. No cameras, Clove. I bet the cannon wouldn't even go off." A calculating glint comes to her eye, and she says gleefully, "Only one way to find out." Her elbow twitches as she subtly shifts her stance into the one she always makes right before flinging a knife. An unexpected stab of fear pierces through Cato, and he hisses, "No!"

Clove turns around, her delicate eyebrows rising. "No?" she repeats incredulously. "Cato. She's no one. We can deal with this…situation alone."

"We can always kill her later. Besides, it's not worth the risk – if we harm a tribute outside of the Games we could get disqualified," Cato says. Clove shoots him a suspicious look before slowly slipping her knife back into its leather sheath.

"Are you sure that's why you haven't killed her?" she asks. Cato freezes, his arms tightening as he struggles to calm down.

"Yes, okay?" he snaps. Cato averts her eyes and walks silently. Cato watches her retreating back for a few seconds, knowing that she's too proud to admit that she was hurt by his harsh words. He snarls, punching a tree.

"Cato. Relax," Twelve says from behind him. He shoots her a glare before sighing and following his district partner. Guilt stabs through him momentarily as he watches Clove struggle to lift a heavy branch out of her way.

He bends over and easily lifts it, offering Clove an apologetic smile. Clove nods at him, accepting his apology silently.

After a moment she says, "So, Cato. What's the plan?"

She casts a pointed look back at Twelve, who is following them silently. They watch as she struggles over a moss-strewn boulder, and when she looks up and catches them staring a firm scowl drops onto her mouth. Cato tears his eyes from hers and resumes walking.

"Find the other tributes," he says.

After a few more hours of walking in silence broken only by the occasional mutter from behind them (which Cato ignores), he decides that they might as well stop and regroup. He looks backwards to tell Twelve of his intentions, but his heart freezes when he sees what's behind him.

Nothing.

He curses loudly, flinging his sword into the ground and stalking backwards. He looks down, his brow furrowed as he scans the damp forest floor. At what point did she leave? He curses his own carelessness; a Career should not have let this happen. He should have been alert the whole time. Cato can hear Enobaria's whispered jeers slither through his mind, and he shakes his head angrily in a futile attempt to dispel the insults.

Failure. Disgrace. Unworthy.

He traces Twelve's small footsteps, frowning when he notices that they veer off to the side at a place only ten feet from where they have stopped.

Why did Twelve leave? Is she planning on ambushing them now? Clove! Icy fear grips his heart, and he runs back to the area where he left Clove. If she gets injured because of him…

No. He can't bring himself to even consider the possibility.

Cato drops all pretenses of caution and opens his mouth to shout, "_Clove!_"

"I'm fine, Cato!" she calls back. He slows to a walk, his breaths running ragged as he struggles to calm himself. Clove is fine. She's not dead. She hasn't abandoned him. Is this how Twelve felt when Blonde Softie died? He can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for her.

Twelve.

Why did she leave? He catches up to Clove, his jaw set.

"She veered to the right ten feet behind us," he states. Her eyes narrow and her hand drifts to the knife strapped to her hip.

"I _knew_ she was going to betray us!" she hisses, her voice shot through with fierce venom. Cato doesn't reply; his mind is still whirling with questions. If she was going to betray them, why wait until they are together and strong? Why did she bring Clove to him? Why not just leave him after the snake attacked him?

Nothing adds up. He's about to voice his thoughts to Clove when a brief rustle freezes them both.

He turns slowly to the right, his bare feet sliding soundlessly across the mossy ground. He wrenches his sword from the ground and drops into a defensive stance. Clove mirrors his actions to his left.

More rustling.

The seconds tick by at an agonizingly slow pace. Should he just charge forward and attack? He's been trained that the best defense is a good offense…and yet, he hates attacking when he can't even see his opponent.

A full head of wild dark brown hair appears from behind a large boulder. Twelve.

His mouth drops open as her cold gray eyes gaze back at him defiantly. After a second she motions them forward, her hand jerking frantically as she glances to the left. He follows her gaze but fails to discern anything from the thickly forested land. Is something coming?

"_Hurry up!_" she hisses, a desperate undertone running through her voice. Clove scoffs, her fingers twitching around the knife. Cato places a calming hand on her shoulder, and she glowers up at him before slowly lowering the knife.

"Why?" he asks slowly, drawing the word out. Twelve rolls her eyes before glancing nervously back at the way they've come from.

"I heard people following us a while back. I doubled back to check but came back here. I couldn't leave you guys alone…although, trust me, I was sorely tempted to," she says. Her voice drips with derisive scorn, and Clove raises her knife again threateningly.

Cato studies the silent forest, his ears straining as he struggles to make out any hint of the supposed followers. Nothing. But then again, he's not as familiar with the forest as she is.

"Tributes?" he asks finally. Twelve shakes her head before spitting out, "Look, are you coming or not? I don't have all day to wait for you Capitol lapdogs." She's clearly regretting her decision to come back. It's this genuine emotion that convinces Cato – this, he can understand.

So he sheaths his sword and ignores Clove's incredulous looks, instead choosing to follow Twelve behind the boulder.

He better not regret this.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please review! IMPORTANT – I'VE DECIDED TO REPLY TO EACH REVIEW WITH A TEASER OF THE NEXT CHAPTER TO SHOW MY GRATITUDE.**


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

_Katniss_

Clove gapes at Cato for a moment before reluctantly following him. She shoots Katniss a pointed glare that clearly says, "I'm not done with you." Katniss shrugs; she has more pressing matters than a fifteen-year-old with a fixation with knives.

She motions for the Capitol lapdogs to keep quiet and carefully raises herself, balancing her weight on the heels of her bare feet. The dirt feels crumbly underneath her, the dry soil crunching softly underneath her toes. She grips the mossy boulder with her fingertips and peers over its top.

Judging by how fast their pursuers were going (they were quite slow), they should be arriving any second now. Katniss is dimly aware of Cato's shoulder brushing her left one as he looks over the boulder.

"Why are we _here_?" Katniss stiffens, bending down slightly as she watches the leaves at the end of the path rustle. The voice is high and feminine, the vowels dropping off quickly in a Capitol accent. Are they in the Capitol? How did the explosion transport them?

A caramel hand brushes aside the rest of the damp leaves, revealing a dark sleeve and then a full head of slightly wavy black hair. It's a young man; Katniss estimates that he's around twenty. He holds the branches back for his partner, a slender woman with delicate features. Katniss furrows her brow, taking in her clothes; she wears a full-bustled skirt, the shining fabric catching on the various bushes that line the forest. Why is she wearing a dress in the _forest_?

Capitol idiots.

It's not like any dress she's seen before, but it still looks vaguely familiar. Katniss frowns as she struggles to place it – maybe she's seen it at school…?

She's distracted from her thoughts when the man speaks.

"You didn't have to come, Estella. You know my walks are always through the forest," he says. The voice is honeyed, a bit _too_ smooth for her liking. It's the voice of a politician, someone who is used to getting his way. Katniss tightens her grip on her bow. Out of the corner of her eye she sees that Cato is tightly holding his sword, his arm muscles bunched up as if he's debating whether or not to leap out and attack them. She rests a hand on his elbow, and Cato shoots her an annoyed look before loosening his hold. It won't do to attack them now; they should find out who they are first.

The man gazes intently at the ground, pausing at the area where they veered off to the right.

"Odd," he murmurs. The girl huffs with annoyance, tapping her gloved hands against her cream colored bodice impatiently.

"What?" she asks.

"I thought for sure there would be people ahead of us," he says almost to himself. He straightens, his eyes trailing to the side. Katniss catches her breath; he can't possibly know where they are. She made sure to cover their tracks with leaves.

"No one _comes_ to the forest. You're the only one foolish enough to risk the muttations," the girl says wearily. She's really beginning to get to Katniss's nerves. She's too whiny, and she obviously hasn't had a hard day in her life. By the looks of those pristine white lace gloves, she's never had to volunteer for a game to the death or worried about shooting the next squirrel to survive.

The last bit of her words catches Katniss's attention. She thinks back to the long snake muttation from before and shivers; is it possible that there are more muttations left in this forest? Where _are_ they? By the sounds of their accents, they're probably near the Capitol. The girl tosses her gleaming auburn hair over her shoulder, accentuating the creamy paleness of her skin.

"Jasper. Let's get home. You have your game making stuff to attend to, and I really must get back to my embroidery," she complains. _Embroidery_? Something's nagging at Katniss's brain, but she can't place it. She wishes she'd paid closer attention to her school lessons…

And what's this about game making? He looks far too young to be a game maker, although she supposes with all the Capitol technology he could really be much older in reality. She's sure there are some treatments to make people look younger. After a moment Katniss dismisses the notion; he's too fluid in his motions. Even the cosmetic surgery cannot alter the strength of youthful bones.

The boy – Jasper – ignores her, taking a step closer towards the boulder. Katniss catches her breath, her body freezing. What does she do? Should she run while she still has the advantage of surprise? Or wait and hope he leaves?

She doesn't need to decide, for Cato explodes over the boulder and swings his sword down in a gleaming arc that is surprisingly elegant for such a brutal move.

She curses the Capitol lapdog's rashness and leaps over the boulder to support him, an arrow notched and ready in her silver bow. The girl is shrieking, the sound shrill and dissonant in the sudden quiet of the forest. Katniss points the arrow at her, narrowing her eyes as the girl turns to flee.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she calls out, her voice low and dangerous. The girl lets out an "eep" and stills, her chest heaving in fright. Katniss spots a gleam of silver out of the corner of her eye and flings her body to the side. She _knew_ Clove would take advantage of this and try to kill her!

To her surprise, the knife whistles past her at a distance a good three feet from her body. Katniss glances backwards, her mouth opening in shock. Clove rolls her eyes at Katniss's movement before turning back to the girl, a determined glint coming to her dark eyes. The shock of the Capitol lapdog's actions wears off as Katniss focuses on the matter at hand. She turns back, her mouth dropping open even further when she sees that the knife has managed to pin the girl's dress to the trunk, efficiently trapping the girl. Katniss pushes down a spurt of fear; if Clove is this accurate and deadly, who's to say she won't kill Katniss the next time she annoys her?

She can't die. Not with Prim waiting for her. Not when she's already sacrificed this much. She readies an arrow and points it calmly at the girl's heart. Behind her she hears Clove readying another knife, and she says, "Don't kill her!"

Clove huffs, an annoyed breath spurting from her mouth.

"Why not?"

"Maybe she knows something about this…why we're here," Katniss explains before narrowing her eyes at the now-trembling girl. Clove mutters some insult about District Twelve under her breath but sheaths her knife.

Katniss chances a quick glance over her shoulder at Cato and the boy. Although Cato is stronger, the boy is almost slippery in his ability to dodge and escape Cato's grasp. With each successful escape, Cato becomes visibly angrier. Katniss watches with a sinking heart as Cato begins to make mistakes he would never have made while calm. It's odd; she's always counted on his temper as a good thing, a weakness she can exploit when the time came. But now? Now she hopes he can calm down enough to subdue the boy.

"Clove." Clove looks up at Katniss's voice, turning to look at the fight behind them. She rolls her eyes and nimbly draws out her knife, shifting her feet down into a fighting stance.

"Wait!"

"_What_, Twelve?"

"They're too close. What if you hit Cato?" Katniss doesn't know why she's stopped her. Shouldn't she be happy if she hits Cato? One less person to worry about. One less person standing in between her and Prim. But it's too late to take back her words, and Clove is already straightening out of her stance.

"You go then," she says. Katniss almost drops her bow; did the Capitol lapdog really just willingly give up the allure of the fight? Aren't they all about getting into every scuffle? Clove seems to sense Katniss's disbelief, and she scoffs before sliding her attention back onto the girl.

She doesn't have time to puzzle over Clove's sudden…well, it's not exactly _friendliness_, but it's definitely a tad better than the blatant animosity just twenty minutes ago. Katniss watches the fight for a few tense seconds, unsure of how to break it up. It's a mess of limbs and hair, the two bodies scuffling around on the floor.

Boom. Cato is on top.

Slam. The boy is now on top, slamming Cato's head against a tree.

Flash. Cato is struggling to choke the boy.

And so on until Katniss gets fed up with the fuss and narrows her eyes, aiming carefully at a tree just three inches above the bulk of the fight.

She tells herself she doesn't care if she hits either one of them, but she finds herself concentrating on her aim nevertheless.

In. Out. Release.

_Zing!_

The arrow flies straight and true, the metal tip burrowing deep into the bark of the tree. The sound startles the two boys into pausing. It's a brief pause, but it's all Katniss needs to fling herself into their midst. She ducks under their arms and uses her stomach muscles to yank them apart, her feet thrusting into Cato's stomach while her arms push at the boy's coat.

Clove is there in a second to stand protectively behind Cato, leaving Katniss to deal with the boy. He eyes her coolly, his eyes gleaming unnaturally as sickly yellow-blue bruises begin to stain his cheekbone and temple. She realizes with a painful start that his eyes are the exact same shade as Cinna's eyeliner. Katniss shoves this reminder away; she can't afford to linger on her past. Not now.

"Who are you?" she asks harshly, holding her serrated knife against his throat. She resists the urge to shiver when he continues to stare coldly at her, his eyes revealing no emotion.

He straightens, managing to look dignified even while under threat of knife.

"Jasper Snow."

XXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

_What?_ Jasper _Snow_? He frowns; does President Snow have a son? Almost immediately Cato dismisses the notion; he's studied Snow's family all his life and there has never been a mention of any family at all. And yet…Cato can see traces of Snow's cold demeanor in this boy. Although Snow is old and withered and this boy is young, they share the same proud stance. He doesn't like this – who is this strange boy?

He snarls, clenching his hands into tight fists. He's vaguely aware of something warm and slippery dripping down his arms, and when he looks down he realizes that his shoulder wound has reopened, Katniss's crude stitches haven torn during the fight.

He looks back up after confirming that he isn't in immediate danger, pushing the annoying twinges of pain to the recesses of his mind. He can worry about that later. Now he just wants to know where the fuck they are.

"So, _Snow_," he sneers, making sure the boy knows what he thinks of his supposed lineage. "What has the Capitol done with the Games? _Why are we here?_" To his horror his voice almost breaks at the last sentence; he can't help it. All of the frustrations and confusion of the past few days have built up to this moment. Life was supposed to be simple. He grew up with one purpose – becoming a Victor. Now that has been torn away from him – not because of death, but because of some unknown explosion? Is the Capitol _toying _with him? Do they think this is _funny_? The red haze seeps through his vision until all he can see is blood.

He flings himself at the boy, not stopping to wait for a response. All he can think about is revenge. Forward. Punch. Kick. Drop to the ground.

_Wham!_

A small body slams into his side, knocking him down into a nearby bush. He roars, flinging around and preparing to snap the person's neck. How _dare_ they interrupt his revenge? He slams his arms forward. Cato catches a glimpse of gray and freezes, his hands just stopping short of Twelve's neck. He shakes his head quickly, dispelling the red haze. He isn't angry at Twelve. He's angry at…he doesn't even know at this point. Cato laughs bitterly, stepping back from the others.

His feet carry him back to the boulder and he leans against the slippery surface, his eyes still narrowed menacingly at the boy. A faint sniff sounds from his right, and his eyes snap towards the person. It's a girl around his age. She's whiping tears from her eyes with a delicate lace lined handkerchief, her full and completely unpractical dress billowing out and spilling onto the forest ground. She catches him watching her and a calculating glint comes to her eyes, swallowed quickly by a demure expression. Cato snorts in disgust and transfers his attention back to the boy.

Still…he can't help but think about the dress. Years of studying past games and Capitol history well up as he struggles to place the dress in his memory.

That's it! It looks exactly like the dresses people wore at the start of the first Hunger Games and the years prior. But why would she be wearing it? Is the Capitol in some historical kick right now? Cato hasn't bothered studying Capitol fashions…

And the boy. Cato _knows _Snow doesn't have any descendants. The man is too cold to even consider the notion. He watches with barely concealed rage as Jasper brushes dust from his elegant overcoat. He thinks of his own clothes – they're tattered with burn marks and crusted blood, strips of the once-smooth material clinging to his body with sweat. Twelve and Clove aren't any better, and Cato observes the relatively pristine clothes of the Capitol duo with incensed anger.

He's never really gotten angry at the Capitol before. Sure, he's ridiculed them. But he's never outwardly felt…bitterness. But now? Now he's faced through horrors and killed so many…and he can't even win the Games. Cato's hands form tight fists as he thinks about how lightly the Capitol thinks of the Games. To them, the Games aren't the only way to prove your worth, the only way to show that your existence isn't useless. To them, the Games are…well, a game. Cato twists, ignoring the shooting pains that spark up his side as his stitches rip, and punches the boulder. Slippery blood begins to slide down the mossy green surface, staining the spongy material with scarlet rivulets.

He can't take this anymore.

"What did you people do with the Games?" He looks up at Twelve's voice, a twinge of satisfaction zipping through him when he sees that she has the boy at knifepoint. For once, he doesn't feel any guilt at having let her live. Because at this point? They have a bigger problem to deal with. He can see that Clove has realized the same thing, for her attention is solely fixated on the boy and not Twelve.

The boy looks utterly shocked by Twelve's fierce words, and Cato pushes down the urge to laugh. It's nice to see someone else on the receiving end of Twelve's temper for once.

"What do you mean?" he asks, his voice genuinely confused. Twelve shoots Cato a bewildered look before stepping forward, pinning the boy to a tree.

"Look. We've been through enough. We've jumped through your damn hoops. Just tell us _where we are_," she hisses, her arm tensing as she holds the stained blade to his skin. The girl screams, her voice high and reedy as she tries to wrench Clove's knife from the tree. Cato sneers at her; honestly, she could escape if she was just willing to rip her dress. He transfers his attention away from the redhead back to Twelve and the boy.

"A mile from the Capitol," he says. Cato frowns; why are they here? How did they get here? Twelve seems to be thinking along the same lines, for she demands, "What about the explosion? Why did you destroy the Arena?"

The boy blinks, puzzlement settling on his features as he registers Twelve's words.

"The Arena?" he repeats slowly. A suspicious look slips onto his face, and he says, "What do you know about the Arena? _Who told you?_" His voice is fierce, and by the sounds of it no one would think he was the one currently under threat of knife. Twelve falters a bit at that, her scowl deepening as she struggles to maintain control of the situation.

"You're not really at a position to ask questions," she snarls. The boy shrugs before fluidly slipping underneath her grasp, twisting Twelve so that now she is the one pinned against the tree. She freezes, the knife dropping from her fingers as she struggles to free herself.

Cato lunges forward, his arms stretching outward as he grasps the boy's jacket. He's a bit surprised at the vehemence of his reaction, but all he can think of are the boy's hands pinning Twelve. No one can cage Twelve. _No one_. He slams the boy against the ground, noting with grim satisfaction that blood is welling up from the gash on his forehead. His surroundings fade out as he grapples with the boy, silently jabbing at the areas he's memorized as the weak points. He moves quickly, his arm darting forward and back in a motion almost too fast to follow. Enobaria's silky voice weaves through his mind, commanding him silently as he fights. In. Out. Duck. Jump to the left. Dart back in. Slam your hands to his chin. Duck again. Punch.

The boy might have some experience, but Cato's been training his whole life. This is what he's been made to do.

There's no way he's losing to some Capitol puppet.

**Author Note: Thanks so much for reading/reviewing/etc! :D **


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

_Cato_

It's over in a matter of minutes. The boy is admittedly fast, but Cato hasn't been chosen to represent his District for nothing. Cato breathes heavily, his arms tensing as he pins the boy to the forest ground.

Cato snarls down at the boy, waiting until he sees the boy acknowledge his defeat before drawing his head back. Small fingertips lightly brush his bare arm, and he glances up to see Twelve's gray eyes.

"I've got this," she says. Her voice is steely, each word filled to the brim with iron resolve. He nods and slowly gets to his feet, shooting the boy one last threatening glare. He retreats to a place next to Clove, watching silently as Twelve points her knife at the center of the boy's dark shirt. He's struck by a sudden sense of déjà vu as he realizes how eerily similar the scene is to the one that occurred just five minutes ago.

"What is your relation to President Snow?" she spits out, kneeling over the boy menacingly. The boy winces as she sits on his chest, pulling himself up to a sitting position. Twelve hisses but allows the movement, jabbing the knife's point into the folds of his soft shirt. Cato scowls; the fabric looks incredibly expensive; of course the Capitol idiots get only the finest of materials. He thinks of his own training uniform, his frown deepening. Each potential tribute is only allotted three uniforms to be worn in rotation. These uniforms are to last for the whole year of training – any loss is to be paid with a predetermined amount of time on the whipping post. In District 2, punishment is public. It's not so much the physical aspect of the whipping but the public humiliation that really wounds them.

Cato flinches as he remembers the first time he was punished – he will never forget the sheer joy Enobaria showed as she brought the lash down on his ten-year-old form. No. He can't think about Enobaria right now. He needs to focus on the issue at hand.

"President Snow?" The boy's voice is filled with genuine confusion, his dark eyebrows lowering over his eerie golden eyes. "Do you mean President Trinket?"

Huh? President _Trinket_? The boy could get beheaded for even voicing the possibility of another president! Is he that foolish? Cato eyes the boy warily, noting how his gaze flicks around the clearing for an escape route. No, he decides. Definitely not stupid. He genuinely believes in what he is saying.

And Trinket…why does that name sound so familiar? Twelve evidently recognizes the name, for she has a shell-shocked expression on her face, her red lips open in an almost-comical looking "o." The boy seizes the opportunity to slide to his feet, wincing a bit when he leans a bit too much on his injured leg. Good. Cato hopes his injury will teach him not to attempt to run away. That will lead to more complications for Cato; he'll have to track him down, and that will _not_ make him happy.

Twelve scrambles to her feet, her arm whipping up to hold the knife back at his heart. The boy shrugs, inching slowly to the right. A small whimper sounds from the left, and Cato looks over sharply before relaxing. It's just the girl – the one dressed in the odd dress. Now that his attention is caught, he finds himself pondering the dress again. He's certain he's seen that style before…he's never been one to pay attention to fashion, so it can't have been in some Capitol magazine. Maybe in a history lesson…? Cato moves to dismiss the notion, but something holds him back.

Flash.

Enobaria's voice, whispering snidely in his mind. _Cato, you've always been a disappointment. Can you really not see what's right in front of your eyes?_

His instructor, lecturing on the origin of the Games.

His mother, talking wistfully of the high fashions of the time period right after the revolution.

Everything swirls together, each puzzle piece snapping together until he can see the whole picture.

This is a dress that was worn around the first Hunger Games. No. Impossible. Cato's frozen; he can't move. His limbs are stone, cement, great weights dragging him down. He feels as if he's drowning, the dappled sunlight whizzing around at disorienting speeds above him. He's vaguely aware of his body falling limp, his injured shoulder slamming against the bark of a tree as he slumps to the ground.

Twelve shouts.

It's just a new fashion. The girl is just another Capitol idiot trying to revive old fashion. Yes, that's it. There's no way they could have…he's not going to allow himself to even consider the notion.

A lower voice murmuring to his left, speaking of "stress-related falls." The boy. God, even if the girl _is_ just following the latest fashions…how does that explain their obvious belief in a President Trinket? Nothing makes sense. He struggles to draw up more memories of the lesson, but he's grasping at thin air, his fingers failing to snatch the elusive answers from the pool of his confused mind.

This – this is impossible.

He looks up, his eyes sliding off Twelve's worried face and fixing on the delicate white hem of the girl's dress. He notes the layered lace, the fragile petticoat, the pale pink ribbons adorning the skirt. The shining silk weeps, the ends trailing into the mottled dirt below.

And yet…it's the only explanation that makes sense.

How is he ever going to get home?

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

Cato's clearly in shock. About what, she has no idea. She casts one last worried look at the boy before dragging her gaze back to the other boy – the one she knows nothing about. He's reached the girl and has already pulled the knife from the tree. Shoot.

She runs toward him, preparing to throw herself at his knees and hopefully fling him to the ground. Before she reaches him, however, he holds up a hand and drops the knife to the ground. What? She freezes, skidding to a halt until she is uncomfortably close to him. She breathes heavily from the sudden movement, flushing as she realizes that she is only inches away from his chest.

"_Jasper_."

That shrill voice again. Katniss looks away, glad for the distraction. She steps backwards and scoops up the knife swiftly, pointing both tips at the pair of Capitol puppets.

"I want both of you to sit with your backs to the boulder," she says calmly. The boy rolls his eyes but complies, the girl trailing behind him and clutching at his arm.

She waits until they are both settled against the smooth rock before speaking again. "What do you mean, President _Trinket?_" she asks, struggling to make sure her voice doesn't shake. It makes no sense. How can the President be a _Trinket_? She tries picturing the pink-hued Effie wearing Snow's dour expression and nearly laughs, the sound rebelliously trying to bubble up from her throat. She pushes it down with a scowl, advancing towards the finely clothed pair when they don't answer immediately.

"That's the President. What are you, stupid?" the girl jeers, pinning Katniss down with a mocking glare. Katniss's hands tighten around the smooth hilts of the daggers, her mind flashing back to all the times back in District 12 when the town girls smirked at her obvious poverty. She _hates_ when people do this. The girl seems to sense her anger, for she shrieks and clings closer to the boy.

"If you mean my father, he's just the advisor. He's not president," the boy says. Katniss frowns. Nothing makes sense. The explosion couldn't have altered _that_ much…unless she's insane. Maybe she's just dreaming.

Clove moves to stand next to Katniss, dispelling her thoughts. No, she's not dreaming. Not unless all three of them are sharing the same hallucinations, the same crazed nightmare.

This is all because of the explosion – she's sure of it. Has it propelled them into some alternate universe? Her thoughts are trailing dangerously into the genre of fantasy, make-believe scenarios that cannot happen. And yet…here they are.

"Who are you?" the boy adds. A flash of undisguised curiosity gleams through his eyes before they return to their normal emotionless, cold shade.

Katniss shoots a conflicted glance at Cato before saying, "I'm Katniss."

Cato hisses his displeasure at her words, but she lifts her chin defiantly and looks away. She meets the boy's eyes and says firmly, "Katniss Everdeen."

"Katniss," the boy repeats, rolling her name around. He tests out the sounds, the vowels elongating and the consonants shortening in his peculiar Capitol accent. She resists the urge to flinch; in his mouth, her name is no longer the endearing name her father gifted her with. It's _too _smooth, _too_ honeyed…

"What are you doing in the forest?"

Clove answers this time, her small form screaming tension, suspicion, pure Career aggression. For once, Katniss is glad to have the malicious girl from Two on her side – however temporary that alliance might prove to be.

"Trying to get back to _your_ Games."

The boy blinks, a guarded expression dropping into place.

"What Games?" he asks slowly, the words drawing out. Each syllable is barbed, tainted with poisonous threats. Clove plows on recklessly, her pale face reddening with anger.

"You know damn well what Games I'm referring to! The ones we've had every single year!" she explodes, slamming a knife into the ground next to her feet. The auburn-haired girl shrieks again, her eyes lolling back into the back of her head as she faints. Katniss rolls her eyes, kicking a stray ribbon away from her. The silky smooth material kisses her hardened feet for a fleeting second before trailing away, the ends rippling down into a mound of dry dirt.

Soft ribbon. Hard feet. Delicate Capitol, rigid Twelve. They are as different as night and day. Katniss is struck again by the sheer size of the impassable chasm separating the Capitol from the poorer districts. Can they not see how utterly _different_ they are? Forbidden thoughts slither into her mind – they should be separate. District Twelve should not be under the rule of a place so unable to understand their needs.

She doesn't have the luxury to think such thoughts. Not because of any fear of the Capitol but because she has more important things to think about. Prim. God, Prim. Katniss bites back a grief-ridden moan as she thinks of her sister's smiling face. What's become of her? Did the explosion affect the Districts as well?

"There are no Games."

The boy's voice breaks through her thoughts, his smooth voice sliding easily into her mind until his words are the only thing in there.

_There are no Games_.

Suddenly she has the overwhelming urge to just collapse, fling her knife into the ground, punch the boy into unconsciousness so she can rip those words from his throat and crush them to the ground. Of course there are Games! She has watched children kill each other. She has seen them walk to their deaths, some running, some crawling. _She_ has been the one to stifle the life of these children. _She_ has lost both Rue and Peeta. _She_ has participated in these Games. Alternate world or whatever hell this is, he does _not _have the right to deny the existence of the hundreds of innocent lives lost.

"You lie."

Cato's words drag Katniss from her spiral into the depths of near-insanity, his cold tone a welcome splash of reality. He has risen to his feet and joined Katniss and Clove, his dark blue eyes impenetrable.

The boy stands and Katniss realizes with a start that the two boys are exactly the same height. Just as the Capitol and District 12 are different, so too are these two boys. One fair, one dark. One scarred, one unharmed. One Career, one Capitol puppet.

"There are no Games," Jasper repeats. Cato's lips twitch into a smirk and he leans back, folding his arms loosely across his chest. The familiar motion sends a wave of calm to Katniss – at least _some _things haven't changed. The pose mirrors the one he donned back in the training center…was that only a few days ago? It feels more like years.

"Your left hand twitched. You glanced to the right, avoiding her eyes. You are swallowing as I speak," he says coolly. Katniss casts a startled look at Cato. She didn't know that training included matters that weren't physical. Although, now that she thinks about it she can see the practicality of the instruction – he needs to know which Tributes are loyal to him in order to form a strong Pack. Her gaze hardens as she remembers just how different they are – fellow Tribute or no, he's still the loyal lapdog of the Capitol. He cannot understand her. He is only driven by a crazed need to win. She looks away, unable to look at his face for a second longer.

"Impressive. Only rebels and Capitol soldiers can pinpoint the signs that well. Rebel, are you?" his voice is a bit too casual. Rebels? Katniss frowns as something nags at the corner of her brain.

She _has_ all the pieces necessary to solve this predicament. She just can't seem to mold them together. She scowls in frustration, stalking off to stand next to a tree. She ignores Cato's questioning gaze, instead shoving the knives into her waistband and reaching up to grasp the nearest branch. She hoists herself up, welcoming the burning strain as her sore muscles stretch. Scrabbling against the rough bark, Katniss pulls herself up onto the tenth branch and rests her back against the broad trunk.

Quiet.

Leaves rustle softly, surrounding her in a whirling blanket of green. She smiles softly, reaching out to trail her fingers along the waxy surface of the nearest leaf. Rue would love this.

Rue.

Her memory is like a punch to Katniss's gut. She bites back a sob, fiercely reminding herself of the presence of the two Capitol lapdogs and two Capitol robots just a few feet below her. She can't reveal any weakness to them. The second she does…she shivers, remembering the way Cato snapped the neck of the boy from 3 without a moment's hesitation.

She breathes in, breathes out. Katniss twists, grasping the silver bow from its place on her back. She runs her fingers across the smooth metal, her mind drifting to the events of the past day as she struggles to organize her thoughts.

Think.

First, the explosion. Could the Capitol have engineered an explosion volatile enough to send them to…wherever they are? Sure, they were able to genetically engineer animals…but somehow she can't imagine anyone having the power to set off an explosion of that magnitude.

Second, the Capitol puppets. She wishes they were lying…but Katniss knows they aren't. They're both dressed in odd clothing. Katniss knows this clothing is important – she struggles to remember her past school lessons. Something to do with the Dark Days…

And suddenly it hits her.

She almost falls from her perch at the weight of her revelation. Fear twists her innards into a painful knot, clawing at her emotions until all she can do is panic.

Horror. Worry. Trepidation.

No matter how impossible it seems…

They've gone back to the Dark Days.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! This chapter took forever to write – stupid writer's block haha. Please review – I respond to each review with a teaser of the next chapter! =D **


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

_Cato_

His eyes follow Twelve as she pulls herself up, rapidly moving from branch to branch with a smooth grace that ensnares his gaze. After a moment he shakes himself and shifts his attention back to the Capitol idiot.

"She's different."

Cato frowns; somehow, he can't stand the fact that the boy is speaking of Twelve. He has no right to talk about her like he knows her. Of course, Cato doesn't have that right either. His frown deepens as he thinks of the way his allies specifically targeted her during the Games…how _he_ had tried to kill her. No. He can't think this way – Enobaria would kill him if she even sensed a hesitation on his part. He reminds himself that sooner or later he will return to the Games; he can't afford to think otherwise. Without the Games, he is nothing. His life is worthless without fighting. Without winning.

"She's _manly_," a delicate voice sniffs haughtily. Cato almost laughs at that; Twelve is the farthest thing from masculine that he can think of. She's passionate, fierce, dedicated. He doubts she would be saying that if she had seen her at the interviews.

Wait. What's he thinking? Cato scowls, angry at his own lapse in judgment. He should not be thinking such things about an opponent…no matter how fierce she may be.

"Are you a rebel?"

Cato turns, meeting the boy's eyes coolly. He masks the unease that swirls in his stomach; from what he's learned about the post-revolution period, any people suspected of still being sympathetic to the rebellion were shot on the spot…or tortured publicly as a warning to the districts. He chokes down a bitter laugh; he's already accepted the impossible – that the explosion has somehow sent them back in time. Just hours ago he would have scoffed at the notion – no, he would have punched the person foolish enough to even consider it. But now? He can no longer deny it.

"I think you know that we are not," he answers calmly. He's perfected the art of masking his emotions. He's learned to swallow any facial expressions that can betray his weakness to Enobaria, to Brutus, to his district.

The boy smiles, acknowledging his words. "True. I must say…this situation truly fascinates me. Who are you if not enemy rebels?"

He pauses; can he risk revealing the truth to them? Even if he does trust them, will they believe him? He wouldn't in their place…he'd laugh and dismiss them.

He glances over at Clove. She frowns up at him, shrugging slightly when she sees the unspoken question in his eyes.

"District Two," he says finally. There. It's the truth…just not the whole truth. Cato's never been one to say more than needed; he'll wait before revealing any more.

The boy sighs wearily before saying, "I'd hope you'd be truthful with me." Clove bristles, bringing up her hand threateningly.

"_Listen_, Capitol boy. Cato and I are from Two. Do you not see the number on our uniforms?" She jabs her small hand at the admittedly tattered "2" emblazoned on the right side of the standard Games uniform. Snow blinks, leaning in to inspect the number.

"Interesting," is all he says. Clove scowls, obviously incensed by his cool demeanor. Cato lays a calming hand on her shoulder, and she looks incredulously up at him. He smiles a bit at that – it's usually him that needs calming down, not the other way around. But then again, he thinks ruefully, nothing seems to be the same anymore.

"And these uniforms – are they of a reflective polymer material?" he asks, his voice a bit _too_ casual for Cato's liking. He nods, a jerky, short movement that sends prickles of pain to his injured shoulder. A calculating glint comes to the boy's eyes, and Cato scowls before shutting his mouth. He won't reveal any more about the Games. District 2 isn't necessarily the entertainment center, but he's heard enough of sci-fi movies to know not to reveal too much about the future.

God, the future. This whole thing is like some warped up nightmare. His gaze trails back to the tree Twelve is in. Until they can get back, he'll have to ally himself with her…which means protecting her from Clove's wrath. Clove has never shown any love towards the other districts, showing only scorn to everyone except for Cato himself.

"_Why are we here?_" Clove asks fiercely. He turns, a bit startled at the harsh sound. Right, she must not have figured it out yet. Although…Cato hasn't fully understood it yet either. Why _are_ they here? Was this whole…time travel thing an expected result of the explosion? Or was it an accident-no. He cuts off his thought train abruptly; he refuses to even consider the possibility that it was an accident. If the explosion was an accident…well, that means even the instigators have no idea where they are. If it was on purpose, then there's still a chance they can do something to get back.

He shifts his gaze to the boy; what will his response be?

"I don't know. Anyone can wear a uniform with '2' on it, but you two do have the look of the eager Two…" his voice trails off as he glances at the unconscious girl beside him.

He looks up, his strange eyes probing deep into Cato's. He suppresses a shiver and glares defiantly back.

"How do you know about the Games?"

Cato blinks, struggling to remember all he can from his lessons. After the Dark Days there was a generation where nothing major occurred…just the usual organization a new government needs. The grandchildren of the rebels were the first to enter the Games, but he knows that the announcement of the Games came as a huge shock to everyone. They must be in a time right before the Games, a time where it is still one of the best kept secrets in Panem.

His mind whirls as he scrambles for an answer. Should he reveal the truth? No, he can't do that.

"Did you not hear me? We just _came_ from the Games, Capitol boy!"

Shoot. He forgot about Clove. He resists the urge to slam his fist into a tree, frustration building up in his chest until the red haze begins to seep through his vision. No. No. NO.

He _cannot_ lose control right now. He thinks longingly of the training area full of plastic dummies before gritting his teeth and screwing his eyes shut. For some reason, Twelve's gray eyes swim into his vision, followed by her calm voice whispering for him to relax.

_Relax, Cato._

His shoulders slump forward as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. He reopens his eyes, his face once again an emotionless mask.

He can adapt to this. The ability to adjust has been drilled in to him since he was _five_. It's a vital skill in a world where the Gamemakers have the power to alter the environment with a simple touch of a button.

He raises his chin in a movement that mirrors Twelve's signature move and says calmly, "We come from the 74th Hunger Games."

XXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

After she's calmed down enough to think coherently, Katniss moves to descend from her perch. She gains nothing by hiding. No matter how much she wishes for the world to just stop, life moves on whether she's an active participant or not.

Her bare feet land softly on the padded forest ground, slender sticks cracking under her weight. She ignores the curious looks of Cato and Clove and instead walks toward the Capitol puppet.

"We're not from here. Do you know how we can get back?"

The boy stares unblinkingly at her before tapping a slender finger across his cheek.

After a moment he sighs and says, "I'm not aware of any way. However, I am no expert in…time travel. How did you end up here?"

Cato cuts in and says, "You seem awfully calm for someone who has just learned of three people from decades in the future."

He shrugs, saying, "If I am to be a worthy politician, I need to be able to adjust to new situations." Katniss finds herself nodding along to that; she can relate. Back in Twelve, she'd had to constantly adjust her hunting routes to the new migrations of the animals while worrying about feeding both her family and Gale's.

"We don't know how we got here. There was some sort of explosion," Katniss says.

"An explosion?" his brows furrow as he thinks, his dark lashes lowering as his eyes narrow.

"The only power source strong enough to hypothetically propel three teenagers would have to be nu-" he stops speaking, casting a shrewd look at them. Katniss waits with bated breath – "nu" what? When it becomes clear that he's not going to continue talking, Katniss almost screams with frustration. He obviously knows something – something that will help her get back to Prim.

She barrels forward, slamming the boy against the boulder with a strength she didn't know she possessed.

"_What_ do you know?" she hisses, her hands clenching the lapels of his jacket. He somehow manages to look down at her while being pinned to the rock.

"I wouldn't know anything. I am just the son of a politician," he says evenly. She almost spits with frustration, stepping back to let him drop to the ground. She's had enough with silver-tongued politicians. They spin lies, whispered promises that caress you even as they strangle your free will.

The girl stirs, moaning slightly as she shifts on the ground. Her cream-colored dress is soiled and stained with bits of moss and dirt.

"Isabella appears to be waking. Would you care to accompany us back home?" His voice is polite, the question perfectly courteous. His words are directed at her, his eyes never leaving hers. She nods stiffly, unused to the flowery formalities of the post-rebellion period. When did the cultural shift take place? At what point did flowery words become ridiculous fashion statements?

The boy smiles before bending down to help the girl up. She watches silently – are they related? Are they together?

"Come, cousin. We are to return together," he murmurs. Cousins, then. She moves to stand next to Cato – for now, he is the lesser of two evils. She may hate Cato for being a Capitol lapdog…but for the moment, he is one of the only ties she has to her home. Her fingers move to brush the empty space on her jacket where her mockingjay pin once lay. Peeta…Rue…so many lives lost. Because of _him_ – no, because of the Capitol.

The girl – Isabella – groans but gets to her feet, leaning heavily on the boy. She shoots a venomous look at Katniss before looking pointedly away.

Katniss rolls her eyes before following them out of the clearing. She casts one last look back at the forest behind her. Somehow she can't imagine she'll ever be the same.

…..

Thirty minutes later they arrive at a well-worn path. The trees are thinner and sparsely spread out, sunlight streaming in great buckets of liquid gold to flood the path. Katniss can make out parallel ruts in the brown pathway similar to those made by the carriages of the opening ceremony.

"We're almost there. Just stay close," Jasper murmurs. Katniss nods, stepping a bit closer to the dark-haired boy. Trees become buildings, dirt becomes dark pavement. A few people mill around the outskirts of the Capitol. Katniss notes that every woman is dressed in a dress similar to Isabella's save for being quite a bit simpler.

Heads turn as people gawk at their torn clothes, their eyes sliding from the regally dressed Jasper to the burnt and bloodied forms of the three tributes. Katniss turns her face forward and walks on, her teeth gritted as she struggles to resist limping. Her thigh burns and she can feel the slippery sensation of blood dripping down her bare skin. Cato doesn't look any better; his shoulder is bleeding, the scarlet liquid swirling together with the dirt and silvery blood of the serpent. Clove looks the best of the three of them, but even she is covered with grime and her dark hair is plastered to her forehead.

The stares are no stranger to Katniss; she's often drawn stares as she walks through the town with her latest kill as she heads towards the Hob.

So she juts her chin forward and walks on, following Jasper silently as he weaves through the cobbled streets and gleaming buildings.

After a while they arrive at a sprawling mass of a building. Katniss resists the urge to gawk, feeling uncomfortably out of place next to the pristine white of the marbled exterior. Isabella shoots her another disgusted look before gliding into the building, lifting her skirts delicately with her soft hands. Katniss scowls and stomps in after her, making sure to smear as much dirt as she can on the marble floor.

A soft chuckle sounds from behind her, and she whirls around to see Cato's smirking face. He leans in, his dark eyes uncomfortably obscure, and whispers, "I saw that, Twelve." A flush rises up her neck to stain her cheeks, and she scowls at him before turning away. Stupid Capitol lapdog.

Jasper leads them up more marbled stairs to a large set of French doors. The doors are gilded with intricate swirls of gold, light streaming through the glass patterns inlaid at regular intervals in the dark wood.

An elderly woman arrives and gawks at Katniss's clothes, her wrinkled hands rising to cover her mouth in silent horror. Katniss scowls at the woman; it's because of _her _Games that she's like this.

"Milla, please see to cleaning them up," Jasper says. Her scowl deepens as she glowers at the Capitol puppet. He grins at her before waving and stepping through the double doors, closing them firmly behind him. Milla stares at them before saying briskly, "Right, you go with Henry. You go with Sarah. And you – you come with me." Katniss casts a confused look at Cato and Clove, but they shrug before following their respective person. She sighs; obviously they're to cooperate with them. At least, cooperate until she can figure out a way to get back to Prim. She gazes at the closed doors, straining to see through the clouded glass. Jasper knows something – she's sure of it.

"Miss?"

She starts, turning to face Milla again. The woman beckons her on, an impatient look creasing her kindly face.

Katniss sighs before following the woman through yet another series of twisting hallways. Milla leads her to a spacious room that resembles the one she stayed in at the Training Center. The woman briskly motions for her to remove her clothing and Katniss complies after a slight hesitation. She's become more accustomed to getting dressed from her experiences with the prep team, but she's still not comfortable with the notion of someone else dressing her. If the woman tries to stick her in a dress she'll scream.

She carefully places her knives, bow, and quiver on the wooden floor, ignoring Milla's appalled looks. Milla soon fusses over her, drawing a bath and scrubbing her skin until it's red and stinging.

"How did you get this?"

Katniss blinks, following Milla's arm to see that she is pointing at the wound on her thigh.

"Fireball."

Milla frowns, tilting her head to the side. Should she tell her that she comes from the future? Katniss almost laughs – it sounds ridiculous even in her head. She stands from the tub, dirty water streaming down her body to pool in the porcelain tub below. The water is mottled, full of dirt and crusted blood. Milla silently hands her a neatly folded bundle of shining navy blue cloth. Katniss eyes it warily before kicking it open. The bundle unravels to reveal a exquisitely embroidered gown, silver swirls delicately trailing up the bodice and sleeves.

No way is she wearing this.

"Sorry, but do you have any pants?" Katniss asks, handing the dress back. Milla looks positively scandalized, and she says, "Dear…how do you expect to get a husband if you dress in trousers?"

What.

Katniss freezes, her braid slapping against her cheek as she whirls to face the elder woman.

"Pardon?" she finally manages to splutter out. A _husband_? Surely she misheard that. Even the Capitol idiots can't believe in that sexist crap. But something's nagging at her mind – she remembers her instructor mentioning how during and after the Dark Days, the rebellion was blamed on the impudence of the female rebels, leading to the mindset that females were inferior. When did that eventually get overturned? If she remembers correctly, it would have been around the time the first Games ended. She wishes she'd paid more attention when her teacher had talked about the first Games…but she had been too tired, too hungry, too distracted.

"You're a very pretty girl, but men will want a woman who is demure and able to please," Milla explains. Katniss resists the urge to grab her bow and jump out the window and run somewhere far away. She longs for the quiet solitude and peace of the forest, she longs for the delicate laugh of her sister, heck, she even longs for the days when she was enemies with Cato. That was expected, normal. This?

This is something strange. Something different.

No amount of hunting could prepare her for this.

Katniss doesn't move, pointedly looking away from the offending material pooled on the smooth floor. Milla sighs and bends down to scoop the dress up in her arms. She moves to leave the room, saying, "All right, dear, I'll try and scrounge up some trousers."

Katniss nods before walking to the large window set in the opposite wall. She presses her hands against the cold glass, peering down at the tree-lined street below. Several couples stroll by, the woman holding up a decorated umbrella with gloved hands. The street is clean, fresh, brimming with golden light. She turns away, suddenly disgusted by the cleanliness and opulent display. It's so different from the Seam. From her calculations, she guesses that the rebellions must have ended about a half a century ago, maybe a little less. The Capitol looks untouched, but she knows from the brief lessons she's paid attention to that District 12 never fully recovered from the blasts. It wasn't until a full century later that 12 finally finished reconstructing the majority of its land – and even then the Seam still displayed signs of destruction.

The Capitol leaves a bitter taste in Katniss's mouth. It's an uncomfortable presence, gluing her tongue down with bribes of warm baths and deceptively sunny hallways. She can't forget why she's here – she needs to get back to Prim.

A soft knock breaks Katniss from her reverie, and she turns to see Milla's stooped form. Katniss approaches her, gratefully taking the soft clothing from her arms. She yanks the pants on, noting with satisfaction that they are a good, stiff material. If she needs to run, these will protect her from the barbed plants in the forest. The shirt is too delicate – it's thin white silk, the collar ruffled with annoying itchy folds running down into a row of golden buttons. Totally impractical – in a way, this shirt epitomizes the Capitol. Katniss pulls it on, wincing as her sore arms stretch a bit too far above her head. She bends down to retrieve her knives and unceremoniously slides them underneath her waistband. She ignores Milla's soft noises of shock as she straps the bow to her back and pulls on the sturdy boots Milla's provided.

She disregard's Milla's expression and says, "Where are Cato and Clove?"

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please review!**


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

_Katniss_

She yanks open doors haphazardly, slamming them shut after she is greeted with the sight of empty room after empty room. Where _are_ they?

Pushing past startled throngs of people dressed in demure black and white uniforms, Katniss pauses just outside of the double French doors Jasper disappeared through earlier. After quickly checking the now-empty hallway for any curious onlookers, Katniss readjusts her grip on her bow and steps quickly towards the doors, resting her side lightly against the cool glass. She tilts her head, her ears straining as she struggles to grasp snatches of the conversation occurring within.

"-ebels!"

"Father, I think they're telling the truth! The little girl seemed quite adamant about it, and she didn't seem like she was capable of a lie of that magnitude anyway."

Katniss finds herself bristling on behalf of Clove – odd. Maybe she is just reacting to the Capitol idiot's words. There is no other explanation for her reaction; she can't be sympathizing with the Careers. She shakes her head, shoving away her discomfort, and leans in closer.

The elder Snow is speaking, his voice frighteningly cold. Each word hisses through his mouth, the vowels dropping quickly and leaving only an uneasy feeling in their place. Just as Jasper's voice makes people frighteningly complacent and relaxed, his father's voice inspires feelings of terror and submission. Katniss isn't sure which is worse.

"Dispose of them."

A pause. A shiver races down Katniss's spine, and she wishes desperately for her father's leather hunting jacket. Are they going to shoot them? She forces herself to stay still – she has to learn more. She suppresses the urge to run, run, run far away from this nightmare and instead leans in once more.

"They were obviously sent here by D-"

And here Jasper's honeyed voice lowers, leaving his words indiscernible to Katniss. She scowls, pressing her ear as close as she can get to the smooth glass. Sent by _whom_? Who sent them here? If she can just find that person, maybe she can get sent back!

To her annoyance, the conversation is drifting to a different topic.

"You make a valid point. Permission granted."

"Thank you."

"Dismissed."

"Yes, Father."

A brief echoing sound occurs, and Katniss realizes with a start that Jasper must be leaving. Shoot. She scrambles to her feet, clambering for her bow and slamming it against the wallpapered wall in her haste. Double shoot.

Just as she's about to sprint away from her spot, the door slides open a few inches and Jasper slips out. She freezes, staring wide-eyed at him as she struggles to appear as if she is just walking by and not eavesdropping on their conversation.

"H-hello," she manages finally, her face a bright red. Even though her skin is a tanned olive, she still manages to blush all the time. She scowls, angry at herself for blushing in front of the Capitol idiot.

He blinks before quirking his lips into a small smile that disappears as quickly as it appears.

"Hello, Katniss. Did you learn anything of use?" he asks. Her scowl deepens; she can't tell if he's joking or not. She can't think of a witty response, so she decides to go on the offensive.

"_Who_ sent us here? What do you know?" she demands fiercely. At once a horde of silent men appears and advances, their hands reaching for the thick batons strapped to their hips. She crouches, whipping out her knives as she eyes them warily. She's surrounded on all sides. Cursing her misfortune and lack of awareness – how could she have missed seeing them? – she swings out with an experimental swipe at the nearest man. He reacts a second too late, the knife tearing easily through his outer shirt before stopping at the stiffer material underneath. Armor, then.

Katniss retracts her arm quickly before he has a chance to grab it, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as she waits for them to attack.

"Enough!"

The men pause before nodding as one and melting back into the shadows. Katniss watches them warily; now she can make out the faint reflections of light as the sun bounces of the metal buttons on their jackets. How could she have missed them before?

"Let's take this somewhere else," he says. She says nothing, still holding the knife loosely by her side. He sighs, moving forward to do something – what, she doesn't know, for an arm clad in royal blue shoots out and grabs his arm roughly.

Her nose is struck by an almost overwhelming wave of sun baked rock and warm spices as she whirls around to see Cato's determined glare. For once, it's directed at someone else and not her – Jasper.

"You will tell us all you now _here_," he says quietly, his voice dangerously low. She blinks; Cato's words are usually shouted at full volume, each sound containing barely suppressed anger threatening to overflow and destroy everything in its path. Now his words still contain the same rage, but the words are soft, dangerous. The threat is there, but it's hidden. Katniss wonders idly if this change in voice transfers to his fighting style as well.

"My father already wants me to execute you. I suggest stopping this before he decides to follow through," Jasper says quietly. Cato doesn't move, his arm tensing a bit but remaining firm in its hold. Katniss frowns; she doesn't need the Capitol puppet to defend her. She steps forward and touches Cato's arm. He flinches, his eyes darting over to meet hers in almost comically incredulous expression.

She shakes her head slightly, an almost imperceptible move that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else. His dark blue eyes flash for a moment before his jaw tenses and he steps back. Katniss notices that Jasper is watching her carefully and frowns, tilting her chin up and meeting his eyes defiantly. She's not afraid of him or his horde of bodyguards.

Jasper leads them to a smaller room that is just as opulent and sunny as the rest of the mansion, sitting down on an intricately carved armchair by a set of gleaming windows and motioning for them to do the same. Katniss sits down, perched on the very edge of the sofa adjacent to Jasper's, her back straight and tense.

"Tell us everything," she demands, her hands gripping her knees as she leans forward expectantly.

Cato sits carefully next to her, clearly as uncomfortable as she is with the situation. She tries to ignore the sudden burning sensation in her side as he accidentally brushes against her; nerves, she's sure, left over from being so used to running away at the mere sight of him.

Jasper flicks his hand to the side, dismissing the five men who have followed them into this room. It's a measure of his authority that they do so with only a few hesitant glances; with her bows and Cato's clenched fists, they pose a serious threat to their employer.

"This is mere speculation," he begins smoothly. Cato snarls, slamming a fist down on the mahogany end table next to him.

"Just tell us everything you know!" he hisses. Katniss casts a worried glance at the Career; he looks as if he's about to explode. She suppresses a shiver; she never knows what to expect with him. One second he's laughing at her for tracking mud into the building, the next he looks as if he wants to kill everyone in sight. He's dangerous, unpredictable. No good will come of spending any more time than necessary with him.

She sets her jaw resolutely, forcing herself to look away from his pale hair, his dark eyes, the way his bottom lashes brush against his high cheekbones. She has to stay alive for Prim.

"I've been researching power sources for a while now, what with the rebellion and everything. I've thought about your predicament, and the only power source I can think of would have to be from a nuclear reactor. Which, as I'm sure you know, has not existed in almost a century. I'm not sure how someone got a hold of one in your time, but there is no power source in this time strong enough to send you back – and even if there was, the possible hazards to both your bodies and the surrounding environment would be too great to even risk such a passage."

He's looking at her, his strange golden eyes delving far too deep into her own. Katniss feels distant, detached. She's not here listening to some Capitol idiot tell her there's no way to return home to Prim. She's not here in this gaudy mansion full of useless gold worth enough to feed her whole town for a full year. She's not here sitting perched not even a foot away from a Career she swore to kill just a few days ago.

This is all a dream.

No, a nightmare.

She lets out a long, shaky breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, forcing her fingers to unclench from their death grip on her pants. She can't lose hope.

Cato's obviously feeling the same panic as she is, for he is shaking, his fists tightened until his knuckles are a blindingly white that stands out starkly against his tanned skin.

He hurtles to his feet, towering over them. Jasper rises just as quickly, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the enraged Career in front of him. Katniss moves forward – to do what, she doesn't know, for a shrill scream sounds from somewhere in the house.

"_STAY AWAY!_"

This yell sounds familiar, the high-pitched voice rough and tilting on the edge of hysteria. Clove. Another bang, this one followed by a loud scraping noise.

Cato's gone in an instant, sliding past Katniss to burst through the doors. She catches a brief edge of something – panic? – before he leaves, not bothering to close the doors behind him. She watches the doors for a moment before turning back to face Jasper.

He returns her gaze silently, his eyes calculating as he takes her in. She stiffens, willing herself to resist flinching under his searching gaze. After a few moments he smiles, his lips twitching.

"Let's see what my dear cousin has been forcing your friend into, shall we?" he says, pushing his arm forward so his elbow is bent towards Katniss. She stares at it blankly; is this some new sort of Capitol fighting style she hasn't heard of? If it is, it's quite useless – she could have slammed the butt of her bow down on it by now and broken his arm quite easily.

He laughs, a short, bright sound, before explaining, "Take my arm."

She blinks before another memory flashes through her mind – her father, laughing and spinning her around. _Take my arm, Katniss_. She pushes back an unexpected well of tears before reluctantly slipping her bare arm through the crook of his elbow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

Clove is slicing through a pile of ruffled silk and ribbons angrily, her knife a gleaming blur as she tears dress after dress. He pushes back a sigh of relief when he sees that she's not hurt, instead leaning back against the wall to watch the events with an amused smirk. The girl from before – Isabella, was it? – has her hands to her mouth, obviously shaken by his district mate's actions.

His smirk spreads into a wicked grin as he watches Clove decimate yet another monstrosity of lace and satin. They should have known better than to try and force her into a dress; the only reason she'd donned one for the interviews was because Enobaria threatened to tell her family of her rebellion. His smile faded as his thoughts returned to his merciless mentor. What would she say if she saw him laughing? He should be trying to get back home, trying to resume the Games before it's too late.

Jasper's words swirl through his head, and he scowls, his fingers tensing around the sword still strapped to his hip. He's lying – he has to be. Sure, he didn't twitch or do commit any of the signs of deception, but now that he knows Cato's trained in picking up lies he's sure to have been more careful. He won't let himself dwell on the alternative – that there really is no way home. That there really is no way to redeem himself, no way to be able to face anyone ever again. He already feels this crushing shame; he's failed his district, his brother, himself.

Cato's broken from his dark thoughts by the smell of morning dew and budding leaves. He looks up, his scowl deepening when he sees that Twelve is practically draped across Jasper's arm. He's only annoyed because it's the Capitol puppet's arm, of course. He can't stand the thought of any Capitol boy with a girl from the Games – it doesn't matter that it's Twelve. He pushes aside the nagging thought that yes, it _is_ because of Twelve, instead striding forward to tear the last dress from Clove's grasp.

She pouts, flinging the knife into the wall only a few inches from Isabella. She shrieks again before flying away from Clove and into his arms. He stiffens, every instinct yelling at him to fling her to the ground and dispose of her. He pushes down his training, instead stepping stiffly away from her blubbering form.

He sneers down at her; he has no respect for someone who can't handle a little fear. If she were a Career, she'd be thrown out before she disgraced her district. She blinks, rubbing at her tears daintily with a pale pink handkerchief she's produced from the depths of her full skirt. He observes her idly, thinking that she's the type of girl used to manipulating others with her looks. She's pretty – shining auburn curls cascading down to spill against creamy shoulders and a pale complexion that only accentuated her ice blue eyes and brief smattering of fawn freckles sprinkled across an upturned nose. Almost like Glimmer in that aspect – of course, she lacks the advantage of years of training in weaponry that Glimmer had.

Isabella blinks, taking in Cato's form with barely concealed shock. He rolls his eyes; obviously, she's surprised at how he looks like without the inches of dirt and blood caked on his skin. Of course, this isn't the real him. No, the real Cato is the one destroying, the one killing.

It's all he's good at – all he has. Just his sword, his arms, his anger. They are the only constants in his life. Well, that and Clove.

He turns away from Isabella's now openly admiring form, his eyes sliding unwittingly to Twelve, who has by now extracted herself from the Career puppet's arm and is standing stiffly by the door.

"How are you, Clove?" he asks lightly, pointedly ignoring the other members in the room. She dons a lazy expression, yanking her knife smoothly from the wall. Her dark eyes gleam with an excited fervor that hints at the underlying unhinged excitement underneath as she replies just as casually, "Been better. And you, Cato?"

He keeps his face fixed on a firm smirk, masking his concern – Clove's always been a bit off after the time in their second year of training when her older sister was beaten to the point of paralysis for becoming pregnant the year before her intended volunteering. Just as Cato threw himself into his training to feel those brief snatches of _control_ over his rapidly deteriorating life, Clove began to take particular joy in her training. Nothing was ever enough for her – she had to slice one more time, spar one more opponent, and tumble into one more dangerous situation. Cato has the sinking suspicion that she actually _hopes_ to get injured, that she feels some sort of debt for not stopping the beating, for not stopping her sister.

He shoves away his troubling thoughts before saying, "Oh, you know. The usual." He slides his sword from its sheath and twirls it experimentally, smiling grimly when he sees that the blade is crusted over with dark blood. He'll have to clean that soon before it damages the blade. But with what? He doubts that they have the special solution he's used to clean his blade; it was invented decades after the first Games. He sighs before sheathing his sword again – he'll have to think of something later.

He notes that Isabella is looking on with horror and his lips curl into a smirk. Good. He's not some frivolous boy she can ensnare; he's a Career, a killer, a fighter.

He turns, feeling Twelve's eyes on him.

"I have some cleaner in my pack," she says. He blinks, keeping his face carefully emotionless. Were his thoughts that obvious? How had she known that he was worrying about his sword? He eyes her warily for a second before nodding tightly, inclining his chin only a few centimeters before looking away. It was a lucky guess, he decides. After all, anyone could tell that he'd want to clean his blade after seeing the dirty state of it.

"I don't think I've introduced myself properly," comes the same shrill voice from before. He groans, turning to face Isabella. She watches him expectantly, one delicate gloved hand outstretched in the space in front of her. Her pale eyes – the exact same shade as President Snow's, he realizes with a start – rove over his face appreciatively, lingering on his eyes, lips, and forearms. He pushes down a laugh, his lips twitching as he watches her blatant appreciation. She smiles, her red lips pursing outwards as she looks up at him through long lashes.

"I'm Isabella Snow."

He smirks; she's obviously waiting for him to take her hand and kiss it or do some other respectful crap. He bows mockingly, making sure that she sees the scorn he has for her. He pointedly ignores her offered hand.

"Cato Alexander," he says silkily. She falters, her hand dropping to her side. He rolls his eyes, turning abruptly on his heel. Clove falls in step beside him, bouncing a bit as she smirks over Isabella's humiliation.

He pauses at the door, turning slightly to call out, "Twelve. You coming?" Clove bristles beside him, but he ignores her – they need to stick together.

After a moment the wave of fresh trees and life signals Twelve's approach, and Cato resumes his walk, not bothering to double check if Twelve is following.

He catches a flash of dark hair as Twelve hurries to walk beside him, obviously not wanting to walk behind him. He smiles at that, keeping his gaze forward so she doesn't see.

Sure, he has no idea where they're going or if it was wise to piss off the niece of the advisor to the President.

But somehow, he knows that as long as they stick together they will be fine.

Or, at least, better than usual.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please review – all review responses contain a teaser of the next chapter! ;D**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Katniss_

"Wait!"

She turns, her braid slapping against her cheek at the sudden movement. Jasper skids to a stop only a few feet from her, bent over slightly as he tries to catch his breath. It's odd, really, she muses. Jasper – someone who is usually the most dignified of anyone she knows – looks just like any other harried person while doubled over from physical exertion. Odd how pain is the great equalizer.

Cato sighs impatiently from beside her, but she ignores him – although she doesn't particularly like the Capitol puppet, she's curious as to what he has to say.

"Please, don't leave. You'll attract too much attention. Besides, I'd like to extend an offer to you. I would love if you stayed at the house until you have the funds to leave," he says after a moment. Katniss pauses; she's not stupid. She knows that with no money, no connections, no familiarity with this strange world she is in a difficult predicament. From the conflicted look of Cato's face, he shares her thoughts.

"Why would you offer that?" he asks harshly. Jasper shrugs, straightening the dark lapels of his jacket absent-mindedly.

"I told you – you intrigue me," he answers simply, looking directly at Katniss. Katniss stiffens, her hand clenching around her bow. Why is he so interested with her? Surely he has better things to do than focus his mental abilities on _her_.

To her surprise, it is Clove that finally accepts his offer.

"Fine, Capitol boy," she sneers, palming her knife threateningly. Jasper nods curtly before sweeping an arm to the side and gesturing to a side hallway. Katniss watches him warily for another second before hesitantly following Clove down the corridor.

She steps into a small room, running her fingers lightly against the gilded wallpaper. The room is fresh and airy, golden light pooling through the large glass window and spilling onto the cream carpet below. She thinks of the crude wooden floor of her house back in 12 and the way her windows are boarded up to avoid the prying eyes of any ambitious Peacekeepers. Her fingers curl into a fist as she draws away from the wall and its disgustingly opulent designs.

She's about to stride back out of the room and leave the house when something stops her. She turns slightly, catching a glimpse of pale golden hair from the corner of her eye. Cato. He's staring rigidly out of the window in his room, his shoulders tense, his knuckles gripping the wooden ledge with enough force that she's worried he'll break it.

He looks as if he's barely holding onto sanity.

Katniss hesitates; should she talk to him? She doesn't _want_ to – after all, he's a Career. She doesn't owe him anyth-no, that's not right. She thinks back to the way he brought her to the cave after the explosion. Prim's admonishing voice pops into her head, reminding her that even if she hates him, she can't just ignore the fact that he's one of the only ties she has left of her own time. She takes a reluctant step towards the door, flinching slightly when he whirls around the second she moves.

Honestly, is he this jumpy all the time? She pushes down her reluctance and juts her chin forward stubbornly, ignoring the way his dark eyes have a slightly crazed tint to them.

She stops a few feet from him, pausing when she realizes she has no idea what to say to a boy she was trying to kill just a few days ago.

They stare at each other silently, the seconds drawing out slowly. She hears a distant roar in her ears as she feels herself being pulled into his madness, his crazed fervor.

She has no idea how long they've been staring at each other. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours. She wouldn't know.

"What do you want?"

She blinks, starting from her reverie. She flushes instantly, realizing that she's been staring at him for who knows how long. To her surprise, Cato shows no sign of rubbing her brief lapse of judgment in her face; he has an impatient expression on his face, almost as though _he's_ the one doing her a favor and not the other way around.

She scowls, narrowing her eyes.

Stupid Capitol puppet.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

She's obviously floundering for a response. He rolls his eyes; honestly, he had thought Twelve to be more intelligent than that.

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't trashing this room or anything," she snaps. He blinks, his mouth dropping open slightly at the sheer rashness and audacity of her response; no one has ever dared speak to him this way before. The red haze begins seeping in around the corner of his eyes, staining everything with blood, blood, blood.

Twelve isn't backing down – no, the stupid girl is actually daring to do that insufferable thing she does with her chin. A spurt of laughter escapes the cage that is his throat, surprising even him. Twelve blinks – obviously she wasn't expecting him to laugh either.

He clears his throat before saying coolly, "Rest assured, Twelve. The walls are safe – for now." Again with the blinking thing – he smirks, glad to have left her speechless. He leans lazily back against said wall, folding his arms loosely across his chest.

She recovers quickly – pity, he rather enjoys seeing the so-called "girl on fire" rendered speechless. He frowns, a spurt of anger and bitter jealousy lashing through his chest as he recalls how the stupid Capitol people lapped her up during the procession. No, he can't get close to this girl. It's an alliance of necessity, nothing more.

Before he can speak, however, the door shifts open a fraction of an inch. He's ready in an instant, whirling around and crouching into an offensive stance – Cato's never been one to start on the defensive. A rush of adrenaline surges through him, a wicked smile growing on his face – finally, a chance to _fight_, to do _something_ other than listen to these strange people from another age prattle on and on about elegance and class. Honestly, they're worse than Marius – and _that_ is saying something.

Pale brown eyes peer timidly from the crack, the gap widening to reveal demure clothes and wispy gray hair pulled back into a neat bun. It's that serving woman from before – Milla? He doesn't really care. All he knows is that he's lost the chance to vent out his anger. He scowls, tightening his arms; he'll have to find some other way to get some training in.

He pointedly turns away from Milla, expressing his annoyance that she isn't someone else.

"Mr. Snow would like to invite all of you to supper," says a soft voice. Fantastic. Just what he wants to do – sit at a long banquet watching people pick daintily at food and talk about empty topics.

"No," he says shortly. To his surprise, Twelve shoots him a chastising look before saying, "We'll be there in a second." He whirls, glaring at her silently as Milla nods and ducks out of the room.

"What was that for? Do you _want_ to converse with those idiots? Oh, sorry, I'd forgotten – you _like_ that sort of stuff, don't you? Probably want Jasper to pull out your chair for you, maybe try on a pair of lace gloves if you're lucky!" The poisonous words are spilling out of his mouth, pooling down to the floor and widening the gap between them. He can feel her pulling away, and he tells himself that it's a good thing – he can't get close to her. Not when he might have to kill her later. So he lets the poison spill, each slippery word aimed to dig deep in her soul and wrench her emotions apart.

_Smack_.

Katniss breathes heavily, her fist still clenched tightly at her side. Did she – did she just _punch_ him? He blinks, too shocked to react.

"_Bastard_," she hisses, her gray eyes narrowed dangerously and stray hairs springing free from her messy braid. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest heaving in and out with suppressed anger. In this moment, Katniss Everdeen very much looks like the girl on fire.

Cato's training kicks in, sending several possibilities rapidly to his mind – he can take advantage of her heightened emotions and whip out a leg to hook around her ankle to bring her down, or he can punch her quickly while she's still in close range, or he can grab the arrow hung precariously from her back and stab her in the heart, the eye, or even the gut if he's feeling particularly vengeful.

His left cheek throbs slightly, but it's nothing he can't handle. Telling himself that he's only showing mercy because he can't afford to kill her now, he merely glares coldly at her and steps forward.

She moves to move back, but the wall behind her stops her flight. He smiles cruelly, advancing even further until he's practically pinned her to the wall. He leisurely brings his arms forward to brace against the wall on either side of her dark hair, leaning in until his nose practically brushes hers. Odd – even under her deep tan Cato can spy a rising flush of dark rose blooming its way across her cheeks and neck. His glare never wavering, he slowly tilts his head to brush his mouth against her right cheekbone. She stiffens, holding her breath. She smells like the forest – fresh greenery, plants, and life itself.

"Be careful, Twelve," he hisses before drawing away. He spins on his heel and strides out of the room without a backward glance.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

Clink. Clatter. Tap.

The sound of gently clinking silverware fills the large room, interrupted only by the soft murmur of empty conversation that runs continuously.

God, how long is this dinner going to _last_? Katniss's knee bounces up and down underneath the tablecloth as she taps her fingers against the ornately embroidered cloth impatiently. She pulls at the stiflingly tight collar of her shirt restlessly, glancing out the window longingly.

Jasper sits at the foot of the table with his father sitting opposite him. Isabella has placed herself next to Cato and has 'accidentally' touched his arm several times. Clove is sitting to his other side and has been playing with her steak knife for the past half hour. Katniss sits opposite Clove and to the left of Jasper. She sighs again, poking half-heartedly at the mass of baked potato neatly arranged on her plate. She's already eaten as much as she can possibly hold in the first few minutes of the dinner. Being from District Twelve, she's more than used to wolfing down her food before anyone can take it from her.

So now she sits, surrounded by idiots who seem to be fascinated by the weather. Honestly, who _cares_ if it's sunny today as opposed to rainy?

She happens to meet Cato's dark eyes and flushes, jutting her chin up to show that _no_, she is not intimidated by him. He shrugs, lifting his shoulders in an almost imperceptible movement before shifting his gaze back to his surroundings. She notes how his eyes rove over everything, taking inventory of every possible threat in the room. His training is painfully obvious – he's arranged the knives so they're within easy reach and she caught him staring pensively at the display of gilded swords pinned up to the wall above Jasper's father.

Jasper's father. She stares at him discretely, noting how he seems distracted by the idle conversation. She catches him staring at her and looks away quickly, suppressing a shiver that runs its way up her spine. Although Jasper is the spitting image of his father (they have the same glinting gold eyes, curling dark hair, and caramel skin), his father has the same air about him that President Snow did – cold, ruthless self-interest.

"What was your training regime?"

The words slide out of his mouth like snakes, hissing their way into her mind. She stiffens, looking steadfastly away from the other members occupying the room. This interrogation process has been continuing all throughout the meal, masked by interwoven questions about the weather. She sees right through him – he wants to know about his future, whether he stays in power, whether he becomes President. She's sure he does at some point – after all, in her time Effie Trinket is a mere Capitol escort while Snow is the president. She just can't seem to remember _how_ this shift happened.

"Running until seven, breakfast, strategy until nine, stamina building until ten. Then some obstacles and various field training until twelve, lunch, weaponry until three, hand-to-hand combat until six, dinner, and you're done. Although if you're specializing you have more training until nine and the gym is open until midnight everyday for additional training," Clove says easily between spoonfuls of the fruity dessert the servers brought out a few minutes ago.

Jasper's father nods, showing no obvious sign of emotion, but Katniss catches a gleam of greed in his eyes and resists the urge to groan. Although spirited, Clove has no idea of how she's being manipulated.

Cato obviously feels the same way, for he rests a warning hand of Clove's elbow for a brief second. Clove shoots a questioning look at him, but to Katniss's frustration she doesn't seem to get what he's trying to convey.

She has to stop Clove before she spills any more information about their time. Katniss stands abruptly, her chair screeching against the hardwood floor as she wrenches it from its place.

The clinking pauses as surprised looks immediately pin her down. She flushes slightly but juts her chin forward, saying, "I'm going for a walk."

Jasper's father frowns, obviously displeased with the interruption.

"You can't go without accompaniment – who knows what unsavory characters might be lurking outside?" She bites down a laugh – his descendant will send her to her gruesome death at the hands of other children – what does he care?

"I'll go with Clove," she says. Cato inclines his chin slightly, showing that he understands her plan to get Clove away from the manipulations of this man. Unfortunately, Clove doesn't agree.

"No thanks, fire girl. I'd rather stay here, thank you very much," Clove says snidely. Katniss resists the urge to march over and punch her, taking a few deep breaths to grapple her temper down.

"No, Clove, I think you want to come out and get some fresh air with me," she says slowly. Come on, Clove, she wills, staring into Clove's dark eyes. Please, understand!

Nothing.

"I can accompany you," says a smooth voice. She stiffens; Jasper. He gazes at her expectantly, his face expressionless as he regards her. Shoot. She can't decline now, not when she's already expressed her interest in a walk. And it will look odd if she continues to ask for Clove – she can already see that Jasper's father is staring at her speculatively from the corner of her eye.

She curses silently before pasting a smile on her face.

"Sure, thanks," she says.

Jasper stands gracefully and offers his arm. She takes it hesitantly and catches Cato's closed off face from the corner of her eye as she leaves the room.

Great. She can only hope that Cato can keep Clove from saying anything too revealing.

….

"Can you really blame him?"

What? She blinks, tilting her head up to look at her companion. Jasper's startlingly amber eyes gaze down at her calmly.

"Think about it – faced with the possibility of knowing your future, wouldn't you try your best to learn as much as you could?" he asks. She frowns, her brow furrowing as she pictures his scenario.

"Of course I'd be _curious_, but I wouldn't manipulate a fifteen year old in order to get my way," she says hotly. He sighs but doesn't reply. They walk in silence for a few more minutes. Dappled sunlight shines through the pale green leaves of the trees lining the quiet cobblestone street and the smell of blooming flowers fills the air.

After a moment Jasper stiffens and he mutters, "Oh no," under his breath. She glances sharply at him before peering forward, catching a glimpse of sandy brown hair.

"Hello, Lucas," he says politely. Katniss takes in the young man in front of them, noting the way he stares unashamedly at her clothing (honestly, it can't be _that_ odd to see a woman in pants) before dragging his eyes back to Jasper.

"Hello, Jasper. And who is this young…lady?" he asks, sneering a bit in Katniss's direction. She stiffens, her fingers balling into fists. Oh, how she wants to punch him.

"This is Ms. Katniss Everdeen," Jasper says smoothly. Lucas blinks before turning to her again.

"Oh, yes, Isabella did mention something about some queer woman who dressed scandalously," he says nastily before bowing mockingly.

She narrows her eyes; who does this man think he _is_?

"Katniss, this is Lucas Snow – no blood relation, of course, but he's taken our name as a future member of our family as per Capitol tradition," Jasper explains from beside her.

She's drifting, her mind scrambling to keep up with every burst of new information. Scrabbling at walls, trying desperately to stay sane. Falling, falling, a distant roar in her ears.

"Member of our family…?" she repeats faintly.

Lucas nods smugly, saying, "Isabella is my fiancé."

**Author Note: Thanks so much for reading! Please review – all review responses contain a teaser of the next chapter! :) Sorry for the lack of teaser for the last chapter - I literally just finished writing this chapter a few minutes ago. I was plagued by the dreaded writer's block for the longest time and at this point I decided it would be better just to publish the entire chapter instead of making you guys wait any longer. Sorry for the wait! Reviews will definitely get a teaser response this time though :)**


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Chapter Fifteen**

_Katniss_

"Lucas _Snow_…Isabella's _fiancé_?" she repeats dumbly. Lucas rolls his brown eyes, bringing up a pale hand to run his fingers through his carefully styled sandy brown hair.

"Yes," he says slowly, looking down at Katniss condescendingly. She bristles. Nothing makes sense. This is a society where they clearly look down on females – why is Lucas taking on his fiancé's name?

Jasper seems to sense her question, for he turns to her and whispers under his breath, "It's all about status. The Snow family is second only to the Trinkets. Lucas is from the King family – they're just underneath us in status, so Lucas is more than happy to take on Isabella's name and gain all the prestige and reputation that comes with it." Katniss resists the urge to roll her eyes; honestly, just when she thought the Capitol couldn't get any stranger, they have to come up with this bizarre custom.

"Well, I'm off to call on Isabella," Lucas says stiffly, seeming to realize that they are talking about him. Jasper shakes his hand firmly.

"Take care," he says. Lucas inclines his chin slightly before continuing onward, his black shoes clicking lightly against the cobblestone road.

Katniss and Jasper resume walking, leaves trailing down to rest on the stones underfoot.

Jasper pauses underneath a large maple, his curly hair framed by the vibrant red-gold leaves blooming from slender brown branches.

"Katniss," he says seriously. She blinks, eying him warily. What does he want?

"I know you come from the Games," he begins. She clamps her mouth shut, fixing him with a determined glare. He shakes his head and quickly adds, "I'm not expecting you to tell me anything about them. I was just wondering if you would like to be a Mentor for District Twelve."

What? He wants _her_ to be a Mentor? An image of herself inebriated and falling off the stage much like Haymitch did so long ago (was it only a few days?) flashes through her mind, and Katniss chokes down a disbelieving chuckle. Jasper continues speaking hurriedly, seeming to sense her incredulousness.

"I just thought you would like to be a Mentor for your district and have a chance to help your district's children. Of course, you probably should keep any information about your past a secret," Jasper says smoothly.

Was that a _threat_? She scowls, folding her arms firmly across her chest.

"Why?" she spits out harshly. She can't discern his motive, and this scares her – Jasper has no reason to offer her this chance to educate her district, a chance to save her district's children. No more pitiful Twelve tributes who don't last a second because of mentors who are too tired to train them properly. No more incompetent mentors. No more watching idly as the Capitol makes fun of those "scrawny, pathetic children from Twelve."

Jasper shrugs before spinning on his heel and beginning the walk back to the house.

"Who else could it be?" he calls over his shoulder. Katniss blinks for another moment, her mouth still slightly open in shock. Does she want to do this? Katniss blinks before nodding to herself; yes, there's no question about it – as much as she hates the Games and everything that has to do with it, she will hate herself more if she lets an incompetent mentor watch over the tributes. Besides, in order to get back to her home – her _time_ – she needs to be close to the brightest scientists this time has to offer. And, knowing the Capitol, they'll sure to be drawn to the Games like moths to light. After another second she sets her jaw firmly, flips her braid over her shoulder, and hurries after him.

Jasper pauses, turning to face her with a smoothly lifted eyebrow. She pushes down a spiteful remark, instead saying, "I'll do it." He nods, his face still emotionless.

"Brilliant, there's a meeting tom-"

"I want Cato and Clove to be Mentors as well."

He blinks; this time it is his turn to look dumbfounded. To be honest, Katniss is a bit surprised as well; she hadn't planned on asking it, but now that she has – well, it'll be good to have them around. Just in case she does find out something – besides, the more eyes looking, the better. Katniss pushes down the uncomfortable feeling that she's becoming a bit too close to the Careers, instead focusing on Jasper as he slowly nods his agreement.

"All right, I'll just have to shift Lucas to District One then. He should be satisfied; he's had his eye on the luxury district for a while," Jaspers says with a small smile.

He offers his arm, and this time Katniss takes it with only a split second's hesitation.

As far as Capitol idiots go, Jasper's not too bad, Katniss thinks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

"You _what?_"

Clove's voice is shrill, painfully high. Her question grates against Cato's ears, slamming ruthlessly down on his senses. He winces, gritting his teeth as he struggles to push away the blindingly bright white spots darting in and out of his vision; the snake must have injured him more than he thought. He has a minor concussion, by the looks of it. He scowls, cursing inwardly; he can't afford to have his judgment impaired. Not at such a crucial time – not when their very futures ride on them getting back to their time. He wonders how much time has passed since they disappeared – has anyone noticed that the tributes are gone? Where are the other tributes? Blonde Softie is dead – what about the others?

He's interrupted by his train of thought by Twelve's biting answer.

"I got you guys spots as Mentors. You're welcome," she says angrily. Clove scoffs, flinging her small hands up in the air before stomping to the other side of the room. After Twelve returned from her frivolous walk with Jasper, she gathered them in Cato's room to talk about this – this – new situation. Frankly, Cato's not sure what to think. On one hand, it's a chance to get closer to the Games, maybe achieve _some_ semblance of self-respect. On the other hand, it's not enough. He's not bloodthirsty to get back into the Games for the action, the adrenaline rush – no, Cato's in it to prove to himself that he's good at the one thing he's devoted his entire life to.

That, and the power. It's the one time Cato is truly in control of his life – no disapproving Mentors berating him to improve, improve, always improve, no gloating parents already certain of his victory, no expectations…no. When Cato fights, it's just him and the sword. Peace. Quiet.

"_Cato_. Tell this idiot that we need to focus on getting back home, not mentoring some bumbling _kids_!" Clove whines shrilly. Cato frowns; Clove usually isn't one to whine – in fact, she was always the one to forcibly silence the whiners during group training sessions. His heart twinges slightly as he realizes that the past few events have changed her more than he thought; God, she's just a kid herself. He shakes off his ruefulness when he catches Clove looking at him weirdly, quickly wiping his face clean of any emotion.

"Mentors have the best access to the latest gear and technology. It's our best bet to finding someone skilled enough to send us back," he says simply. She scowls, flinging a knife into the wall next to Twelve in one fluid motion. She screams in frustration before stomping out of the room, her short cut black hair swinging angrily across her pale neck.

Twelve yanks the knife from the wall and inspects it idly. She presses a finger delicately to the edge, drawing it back quickly with a satisfied hiss as she tests its sharpness.

After testing its weight for a moment she hands it to him hilt-first, saying, "It's a nice knife."

Huh? Why is Twelve speaking to him about _knives_, of all things?

"It is. Clove sharpens her knives painstakingly," he finds himself answering. She nods, her clear gray eyes catching his. For a moment it's like his surroundings have blurred away. There are no more white spots darting and scraping against his eyes. There are no more gaudily opulent armchairs lining the room. There is nothing but gray, gray, gray.

He finds himself taking a step forward, drawn to this small girl from District Twelve who has managed to change all his perceptions about the coal-mining district.

Is she holding her breath? He can't tell; the air is stifling, gripping his throat with an iron hold.

He stops just inches from her, looking down at her tan skin, her dark hair, her wide eyes. She's really quite beautiful, he surmises distantly. He can see why Blonde Softie was so fixated with her. It's her passion that really makes her come alive – her fierce love for her family that makes those gray eyes become lethal fires, makes her jaw become hardened steel, her arms, her bow into deadly weapons. Cato realizes with a start that somehow, somewhere over the line of these past few days, he's begun to respect her, to see her as an equal. And that scares him – but he can't think straight, not with those steady eyes gazing at him seriously.

"Cato, I-" she begins softly.

He blinks, snapping out of his reverie. What is he doing? He can't get close to her – it's bad enough with Clove. He can't afford to get close to another competitor – never mind that they're not in the Games. While there's still a chance of him reentering them and getting back, Cato cannot afford to make mistakes.

He steps back shortly and asks coldly, "What time do we meet the tributes?" Twelve blinks, her eyes closing off as she folds her arms over her chest.

"Jasper said they're announcing the Games first thing tomorrow morning. Tributes will be chosen the day after next," she answers shortly. She glares at him one last time before spinning away, her braid slapping against his chest, and leaving the room. He feels strangely empty after she leaves – it's probably only because he enjoys having someone to torment. Cato pushes away any thoughts of gray-eyed girls from Twelve, instead grabbing his sword from its place against the wall, sighing, and heading off to find a training area.

"Welcome, welcome!"

Cato shifts uncomfortably, all-too-aware of the absence of his sword. They've dressed him in some sort of dark trousers and long jacket adorned with gold buttons. Much to the dismay of the maid, he shed the jacket a while back and has already rolled up the sleeves of his white pressed shirt. It's too damn hot for such a heavy jacket.

He sighs, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he continues scanning the room alertly for any possible threats. Even now his training is kicking in, identifying the few soldiers scattered across the large, open area. They all look complacent – and why shouldn't they? They're in the middle of gaudily dressed Capitolites, not rugged, angry rebels. He shifts his attention back to the speaker – so this is President Trinket. He's very old; his hair is snow white, his face lined with age. A few feet to the right of Trinket's slightly bowed form stands Jasper's father, looking strikingly young and power-hungry in comparison to the elderly president. Cato's seen the look in his eyes before in many politicians back in his time – the look of unhappiness, the look of wanting more, more, always more.

To the left of Trinket sits a young man with Trinket's weak chin and watery blue eyes – his son, then. He looks distracted and is playing with the hem of his ornately embroidered jacket idly.

Trinket's words drift back into clarity, and he forces himself to pay attention.

"My honor to announce the arrival of the very first Hunger Games!"

Trinket pauses, allowing for the hushed murmur of excited gossip to rise briefly before holding up a gloved hand to halt the chatter.

"Yes, yes! It is a joyous time indeed! In order to remember the events of the rebellion – and, of course, commemorate each and every life expended so foolishly by those chaos-causing rebels, each district will send two tributes – one boy, one girl – into the Arena. Your district's mayor will read more details. Good bye, and happy Hunger Games!" Trinket finishes, stepping off of the wooden podium and ignoring the raised fervor of questions.

Cato grits his teeth but says nothing, watching as the Games are officially set. This is the start of generation after generation of Career-born children spending every waking hour in gyms. This is the start of a struggle for power, a struggle for respect. This is the start of everything.

Let the Games begin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She hates this. Trinket's words whisper through her mind, penetrating deep with promises of "joyous" Games and happy traditions. She watches with thinly veiled disgust as the Capitol idiots around her celebrate and gossip excitedly about the events. Her lip curls with disgust as a particularly exuberant woman dressed in a full gown gushes on about how glad she is that something exciting is finally happening.

Do they not realize what this entails? Do they not realize that this means the deaths of at least twenty-three children? God, she hates them more than anything right now. She scowls, balling the gauzy fabric of her shirt with a tight fist as she tries to strike them all down by the sheer force of her glare.

"Sickening, isn't it?"

She turns, her eyes widening a bit when she sees Clove's disapproving face. The girl gazes at the hordes of chattering Capitol idiots, her dark eyes narrowed. Clove is a Career – why is she so critical? Don't Careers thrive on Capitol approval?

"Idiots, the lot of them," Clove continues, ignoring Katniss's stunned silence. After a moment Katniss swallows and nods, moving to stand next to the District Two tribute.

"Absolutely sickening," she agrees.

"I don't like you," Clove says. Katniss bristles; well, she's gathered _that_ so far, considering the multiple attempts the dark-haired girl has already taken to end her life.

"But…but I admire what you did. For your sister, I mean," Clove says hurriedly, her words spilling out in a garbled rush…but decipherable all the same. For the second time that day, Katniss is stunned into complete silence. This girl – this _Career_ – has completely broken free of all of Katniss's expectations.

"Thanks," Katniss finally manages.

"You're odd," Clove says shortly, and suddenly she's back to being the brash, blunt Career girl again. And yet – she's different. Katniss smiles softly as she sees Clove scowl at the Capitol women surrounding her.

If she looks closely, she can see a bit of Prim in Clove's stubbornness.

"Katniss!"

She turns, her skirt swishing annoyingly against her bare legs. Jasper is approaching her, a broad-shouldered blonde man who reminds her painfully of an older Peeta trailing him laboriously through the thick hordes of full-skirted Capitol women.

She drags her eyes off of the man who looks so much like Peeta to meet Jasper's golden eyes, forcing herself to listen as he says, "This is Hector Mellark. He'll be your fellow Mentor."

_Mellark_.

Images of a smiling boy with bread flash through her mind, and Katniss suddenly feels sick to her stomach. She resists the urge to vomit, to cry, to scream, instead pasting a shaky smile on her face and offering a hand.

"Pleasure," she says softly. Hector grins, the skin around his eyes crinkling into deep crow's feet. He's in his late thirties, maybe, his golden hair just beginning to thin out at the top.

"The pleasure is all mine," he says cheerfully, grasping her hand after only a second's hesitation. "I have to say, I've never shaken hands with a girl before," he adds amicably. Katniss shrugs; she's certainly not going to start curtsying and offering her hand to be kissed by strange men whose mouths have been who knows where.

He laughs then, a full-bellied laugh that shakes him head-to-toe. The urge to vomit rises again – that's Peeta's laugh. She mutters out a hurried apology before whirling around and thrusting her way through the crowd.

She has to get out of here.

God, Peeta. Peeta. Peeta.

Angry hot tears well unbidden to her eyes, and she angrily wipes them away with a haphazard slash of her arm. She stumbles, pressing her left hand against the side of a wall of a building a few dozen feet from the meeting area, and sinks to the ground, her skirt floating around her and crumpling against the dirty pavement.

"Twelve?"

She looks up, ferociously swiping the tears from her cheeks as she meets dark blue eyes.

Cato bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. After a moment he steps forward and sinks to the ground next to her. She stiffens; what is he planning?

"You know, I was a right idiot when I was younger," he begins. Huh? What is he doing? Cato continues, his words warm and low, not meeting her eyes.

"I thought I was invincible and I boasted about my strength to anyone who would listen – to those who wouldn't, too. I went up to the top of the Training Center and got dared to jump down."

She smiles at that, a half-strangled laugh escaping from her grief-constricted throat.

"Did you do it?"

Cato looks affronted at her question, as if his very manhood has been brought into question. She rolls her eyes, smiling into her folded arms as she bends her head down between her knees.

"Of course! I couldn't let myself be known as a coward, now, could I?"

"Were you scared?"

Silence.

She looks over, but Cato's head is turned away.

"Yes," he says finally. "Yes, I was scared. But I jumped and got five fractured bones for it." He's looking at her now, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

Then he smirks, his full lips curving into a lopsided smile.

"Of course, I was still worshiped by my peers after that," he adds boastfully. She grins, no longer able to keep her smile down.

"Oh, yes, because jumping off a building is _definitely _something to be proud of," she says sarcastically. He laughs – a real laugh, not the cocky chuckles he shared with Caesar during his interviews for the Games.

They settle into comfortable silence, just watching the horse drawn carriages travel peacefully down the sun-stained cobblestone road.

It's only when she's in bed for the night that Katniss realizes that he made her completely forget her sorrow.

**Author Note: I am so sorry for the delay! I literally just finished writing this chapter, and I thought I'd just go ahead and publish it because I didn't want you guys to be waiting for too long. Unfortunately, I'm right in the middle of exam period (ugh), so the next chapter won't be able to come out until early June. Thanks to everyone for your patience! Please review!**


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

_Katniss_

Reaping day is tomorrow. Even the thought makes Katniss feel weird; how can she even be in this situation? While she was standing as a Tribute on her last Reaping Day, now she stands as a Mentor.

As she stands alone and waits to be called to the train that will take her back to the district that is her home and yet isn't, she has the sinking feeling that she's about to understand Haymitch's reasons for his reliance on alcohol.

"Twelve."

She turns swiftly from her perch by the window overlooking the tree-lined street below and meets Cato's dark eyes.

"You're not supposed to be here," she says stupidly, cringing inwardly as soon as the words leave her mouth. It's the nerves, she thinks to herself. Her inability to think whenever Cato is around has nothing to do with the aura of determination and strength that follows him wherever he goes…or the impenetrable depths of his eyes.

But her words ring true, obvious though they might be. They were told to remain in their respective rooms until summoned by some Capitolites who would then escort them to their trains. At this point, Katniss has decided to pick her battles – although she may balk at the idea of listening to orders from Capitol idiots, she knows it's smarter to comply with these lesser things in order to save her strength for larger problems. Problems such as the question of their return back home, for instance.

Thankfully, Cato ignores her comment, instead striding forward to join her by the window.

"How are you doing?" The words are so low, Katniss can barely make them out.

"As well as can be expected," she answers honestly. He looks at her then, his eyes trailing across the side of her face and leaving fires in their wake. She flinches at the attention, and he immediately looks away, his jaw clenching and his hands balling into fists on the windowsill.

"_Damnit_," he hisses, whirling around and resting his forehead on the wallpapered wall. His shoulder muscles bunch up, leaving knotted cords across his back that are visible through the thin white dress shirt he wears, his bare forearm slamming into the wall.

Katniss freezes; what does she do? Her mind flashes back to the Games – how Cato hunted her, how he killed so many on the first day, how he's trained his whole life to be a killing machine.

"You're scared of me," the words are simple; Cato is stating a fact. His tone is tinged with bitterness. Katniss shakes her head slowly, meeting his eyes. No, she realizes with a start. He might always be a Career, but he's still the same person who comforted her after the announcement of the Games.

"No, Cato. We're in this together," she says firmly, resting a careful hand on his taut shoulder. He tenses, his eyes still a bit crazed.

"You should be scared," he says finally, his shoulders slumping forward a bit. She carefully draws him away from the wall, wincing inwardly when she spies a sharp indent where his fist once rested.

They are staring at each other now, a look full of tension and – Katniss doesn't know what else. Katniss considers her next words carefully before saying calmly, "Shut up."

He blinks, shocked into silence. Katniss allows herself a second of self-satisfaction before continuing, "Cato. Snap out of it. You're stronger, better than this. You are _not _a monster. I get that you're angry. I'm angry too. Don't let that stop you from achieving greatness - or from even getting back home. You're more than just an emotion, Cato. I know you are – it's time to prove that to the rest of them."

She lifts her chin defiantly, letting the last word ring into the silence of the room. Cato's eyes are wide; he's genuinely surprised by her outburst. Well, she's not about to apologize any time soon for telling the truth. She's tired of letting the Capitol control their emotions. She's going to pretend to be a good little Mentor and get back home to Prim as soon as she can.

Cato is still silent; Katniss shifts uncomfortably, uneasy with the prolonged silence. His eyes are far away, distant. What is he thinking? She opens her mouth to speak again but is interrupted before she can get out the words.

"Miss Everdeen? Oh!"

She whirls around, her hand immediately reaching backwards for the bow strapped to her back. She never goes anywhere without it; although it reminds her of the bloody days of the Games, it's one of her only tokens of her time. The fact that it's a good, sturdy bow makes it all the more appealing.

Milla stands in the doorway, her frail hands clutching at the doorframe as she gazes open-mouthed at Cato. Right. He's not supposed to be here; something about proper etiquette or some other rubbish like that.

She ignores Milla's disapproval, instead saying curtly, "What?"

Milla swallows and clears her face, although displeasure still shines from her eyes.

"You're wanted in the foyer. We have a visitor," she answers before slipping out of the room.

Katniss exchanges a confused look with Cato; why would they be needed to be present for a visitor? As an important politician, many people have visited Jasper's father, but previously they only needed to stay in their rooms.

She moves to leave the room but is stopped by a warm hand on her left wrist. She turns, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

"I-thank you," he says sincerely. The words obviously do not come easily to him – Katniss decides not to prolong his duress, instead nodding her acceptance of the apology.

As she walks out of the room and through the carpeted hallway, she's all too aware of Cato's presence behind her.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

"Katniss, Cato, Clove – I'd like you to meet our esteemed guest, President Trinket," Jasper says. Cato ignores him, instead observing President Trinket closely. This is the first time he's seen him up close, and as his training kicks in he quickly pinpoints his weaknesses – his left eye sports the beginning of a cataract, his hands shake, and he tilts his head to the right when spoken to – a sure sign of burgeoning deafness. Still – Cato can detect a steely undertone in his blue eyes; this _is_ the man who ruthlessly put down the rebellion, after all.

Cato's gaze travels slowly to the young man beside Trinket. His son, on the other hand, is pathetic. Cato's face remains emotionless as he examines the boy's bored expression and restless demeanor. He has no self-control, Cato thinks. A poor sign for Trinket, especially with Jasper's father being so bloodthirsty.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you. I trust your journey from your districts was to your liking?" Trinket says. What? Journey from their districts? Does he not know that they are from the future? Cato glances sharply at Jasper's father, but his face is expressionless. What else is Snow keeping from Trinket? Cato leans back on his heels, his jaw tensing as he gazes at Trinket's extended arm.

After a second he takes it, saying slowly, "It was great, thank you." He feels Twelve's sharp gaze on the back of his head, but he ignores it – he'll play along with Snow's game for now, but only until he finds out his motives.

"It's so nice to see young people such as yourselves take an interest in their surroundings. Please thank your districts for sending you as representatives," Trinket continues.

"Father, Marissa waits for me in the carriage. Must we stay for a long time?" his son whines. Cato lifts his eyebrows incredulously; the boy looks to be at least five years older than he is, and yet he acts like a spoiled child. Even Cato is surprised by the sudden, white-hot anger he feels at the boy; when did he get so angry with the Capitol?

Slightly troubled by the change in his temper, Cato forces himself to count to ten, breathing slowly. No, Cato. Do not go over there and punch the boy. Calm.

"Bring the girl in then, Victor. I am sure our hosts would not mind," Trinket says amicably. Snow nods stiffly, his mouth curling into a smile that looks uncomfortable even from Cato's view from all the way across the room.

"Certainly, Father," Victor replies, spinning on his heel with a whirl of gold-embossed fabric to leave through the ornately engraved French doors.

"Marissa hails from District One; her family sent her ahead to watch the Games. A bit unconventional, of course, but my son seems to enjoy her company. The people the poor dear was supposed to stay with have left already, but we allowed her to stay with us, of course," Trinket explains. Having already dismissed the information as trivial, Cato barely pays attention.

It's only when Twelve gives out a loud gasp that he looks up, his gaze quickly darting across the room – is someone threatening her? He scans her quickly, looking for any injuries, before moving on to Clove.

Nothing.

Trinket, Jasper, Isabella, and Snow remain in the same place as before. Victor has just entered. The only new addition is the young woman attached to Victor's arm. He gives her a quick once-over, noting the way her arm tightens and her already-pale face whitens to a deathly pallor when she sees them. Pointed features, pale complexion, copper hair.

Nothing particularly speci-wait. He knows this face. He furrows his brow, his mind racing back to the time before the Games, the hours spent poring over his fellow tributes' biographies and memorizing their every weakness.

Marissa Edgar. District 5.

A tribute. For a second he's frozen…but then his training kicks in. He needs answers.

With a roar, he slams his body forward, slamming the girl to the ground. She lets out a cry, tripping over the vast folds of cloth she's swathed in. He doesn't hesitate; it's her fault for letting herself be clothed in such an impractical getup. She's a _tribute_ – how can she forget that?

He pushes her to the ground, his hands gripping her shoulders tightly.

"_What do you know_?" he hisses, his lips curling into an animalistic snarl. Fear flashes through her pale eyes as she claws at his hands desperately – an amateur's mistake.

"N-nothing!" she says desperately, her words hushed and forceful. Then she looks at something behind Cato and smiles, her eyes darting back to his.

"I honestly don't know anything," she says earnestly. Cato pushes down a laugh; does she honestly think he can't see past her deceit? He hasn't been training his whole life for anything. Speaking of which…he ducks just in time to miss the punch Victor's aimed for his head, smoothly rolling off of Marissa's body and springing to his feet. He'll interrogate her later.

Clove shoots him a look, clearly not recognizing Marissa. Of course, Clove was never one to study background information. With her skills with a knife, she's the interrogator of the duo.

"_Explain_ yourself, Snow!" Trinket blusters. Snow shoots Cato a look that clearly conveys a threat, which Cato promptly ignores; he's already been sent in to fight to his death against several children – what more can the Capitol do to him?

As soon as the thought comes to his mind, Twelve's determined gray eyes and familiar scowl drifts into his thoughts, soon accompanied by Clove's stubborn frown and whirl of knives.

Cursing his own weakness – when did he allow this to happen? – Cato forces himself to say through gritted teeth, "My apologies. She is the spitting image of the woman who killed my brother."

He ignores Clove's suspicious look, instead gazing resolutely at Trinket. Victor looks outraged, but it's Trinket's reaction that he's most concerned with.

After what seems like an age and a half, Trinket finally inclines his head.

"If the Lady Marissa so agrees, then you are forgiven," he says graciously. Cato's gaze smoothly slides over to Marissa, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Of course I forgive him," she says stiffly.

"Brilliant. Now, Snow, I expect we have some matters to discuss," Trinket says briskly. Victor shoots Cato one last venomous look before following Jasper, his father, and Snow out of the foyer.

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Twelve rushes forward, whipping an arrow out of her quiver and smoothly sliding it into place in her bow.

"Foxface," she says curtly. Marissa blinks, looking confused. Foxface?

Twelve is clearly not in the mood to explain things; she merely jerks her head to the side, motioning for Marissa to move against the wall. Marissa slowly complies, walking slowly with her eyes darting around for an escape route.

"District One? You're from Five. What are you doing here? What do you know about the explosion?" Cato demands fiercely.

"Distr-_you!_" Clove realizes, and soon there is a third knife in the fray. Marissa glances fearfully at the door through which the others left just moments before, saying, "It's not safe here. Come." She somehow manages to slip underneath the various weapons pointed directly at her, opening the door that leads to the garden behind the house.

After exchanging a long look with Twelve, Cato follows her out. They need answers. If Marissa betrays them, he'll make sure to haunt her with a vengeance. As he follows her through winding paths and overhanging thorn-tipped vines, he struggles to push down his frustration. He needs to remain clear headed for this; he can't afford to go off and explode.

Still, the anger is there. It's always there, a red haze lurking behind every move he makes. An anger that stains the world with blood.

He's interrupted from his thoughts by the realization that they have stopped moving. Marissa pauses next to a burbling fountain, sitting on a stone bench situated directly to the left of the ornament.

"Listen. I don't know anything more than you do; one second I'm running, the next I wake up bloodied and injured. I cleaned myself the best I could before wandering the woods. It was there that Victor found me – I could tell something was off, so I lied and said I was from district One; Capitolites look favorably on One. After all, they're the source of the precious jewels they covet," she says in an earnest rush. Cato quirks an eyebrow but otherwise says nothing. It's true that the Capitol favors One; they depend on the luxury items One exports for their fashions. It was a smart move on Marissa's part, a move Cato can understand.

Cato groans, aggravation welling up in him as he realizes his only lead is gone. Now what is he supposed to do? If Marissa doesn't know anything, then how are they to return home?

"How did you get in with the Snows?"

This time it's Twelve who answers. She's lowered her bow but kept the arrow notched; smart, Cato notes – he still doesn't trust Marissa, a sentiment obviously shared by Twelve.

"Ran into Jasper and Isabella. We're Mentors – figured it would be the best way to get information."

Marissa nods, admiration gleaming momentarily in her blue eyes. "Good idea. How'd you get them to agree to that? I tried asking around for any leads, but no one takes me seriously."

"They're idiots. So you're not a Mentor for One, then?" Clove asks. Marissa shakes her head, saying, "I wish. I've been getting close to Victor, though – I'll see if I can get some information out of him."

Something about the nonchalant way she says this bothers Cato; can he trust a person so willing to use someone else's affections for their personal gain? Then he remembers the chain of girls over the years that he's used to relieve stress; if Marissa is a monster, then he is too.

Twelve seems to sense his descent into broody silence, for she reaches over and not so subtly whacks his arm with her boy.

"Come on, Capitol puppet. Train leaves any minute now," she says.

Just as they're about to exit the garden, Clove stops short.

"What about Thresh?"

Cato freezes; Thresh. His mind darts back to the information card he'd memorized about the large, hulking boy from Eleven. His only weakness is the girl who accompanied him – Rue. Where is he? Did he, like Peeta, die in the explosion? Somehow Cato can't imagine the boy who is two hundred pounds of pure muscle succumbing to death easily…but then again, anyone can die.

Twelve looks troubled by the thought, but she says, "We'll keep an eye out for him. Until then, we can only focus on finding someone to send us back. After the reaping we'll head back and reconvene."

It's as good a plan as any – Cato certainly can't come up with an alternative plan of action.

Marissa nods before glancing nervously back at the double set of clear glass doors leading back into the house.

"Victor will be wondering where I am," she says before leaving Clove, Twelve, and Cato standing in the middle of the garden path.

Silence.

Suddenly it's too much – Cato groans, balling his hands into tight fists in a futile attempt to subdue his anger. Useless.

"I need to go," he manages to spit out before whirling on his heel and running away, his feet slamming down onto the dirt below him and crushing several flowers. Scarlet petals litter his wake, bent stems drooping down to the ground.

He needs to train, to fight, do _something_ to lessen the sheer amount of anger and frustration that's threatening to swallow him whole.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! Please review – all reviews get returned with a teaser of the next chapter c;**

**Side note – I've created a sort of status check on my profile where I'll be posting how much of the next chapter I have written. Check it out if you're interested! :)**


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Chapter Seventeen**

**Author Note: Because I have limited time before I have to leave, I thought I'd write this chapter instead of replying to reviews (which I love to do!). I'll reply to all reviews to this chapter though :)**

_Cato_

_Slam_.

The sword slices satisfyingly through the fallen log, and Cato whirls around quickly to stab at a mound of dirt before leaping to his feet and twisting in midair. Sweat trickles down his temples, and he breathes heavily, relishing in the welcome pain the heavy exercise brings. His muscles strain, the familiar feeling having a calming effect as he empties his mind of the worrying events of the past few days.

Tucking the sword neatly close to his body so it molds to the contours of his back, he flings himself forward and somersaults, using his momentum to propel himself forward to the decorative wall ahead. With a brutal snarl, he slams into it with a satisfying _crack_, the concrete splintering off and falling to the ground in a rush of gray.

Finally – some action. He's restless, unused to staying still for so long. Cato longs for the training dummies in the gym, but unfortunately he has to make do with half-grown trees and boulders.

As he punches the wall to help toughen the skin on his knuckles, the sky behind him is streaked with crimson, burnt orange, and deep purple as the sun begins its descent. The clouds are stained yellow, slashed through with brilliant hues.

"Cato."

He whirls, his sword flashing in the dimming sunlight. Twelve rolls to the side and is up in an instant, her mouth set in a firm scowl.

"You've _got _to stop doing that," she says irritably. Cato blinks away the red haze, registering Twelve's presence. Odd, he should be more irritated at having his practice interrupted – and yet, all he feels is amused interest.

"Instinct," he says unapologetically. Her scowl deepens as she sees that he's not about to apologize any time soon.

"Fine," she snaps, setting her bow down on top of a particularly large boulder slightly off to the side. "You want to fight? Let's fight." And with that, she hurls herself forward, her body a lethal weapon as she slams into Cato's chest.

He staggers back, caught off guard for a second, before his training kicks in and he smoothly flips her onto her back. She snarls before launching her legs up and kicking, aiming slightly lower than his training partners had before.

He scowls before shifting his legs so they pin hers down.

"That was a dirty move," he hisses. She scoffs before saying, "Sorry, Career boy." Then she slams her head forward, and Cato reels back instinctively. He's on his feet instantly, and they warily circle each other, their feet trampling the manicured grass underneath.

She's good – he can grudgingly admit that. Although she lacks the technical skill and finesse that he and Clove possess, she makes up for it with strength and sheer determination. With the proper training, she could be a worthy opponent. And suddenly Cato's hit by the realization that he's not uneasy anymore; he's not jittery, not even _angry_. If he can just keep fighting with Twelve, he can hold on to his sanity for just a bit longer –

"After the Reaping – meet me here the day we both get back. I'm going to train you," he says shortly. She pauses, obviously surprised by his statement. After a moment she recovers, suspiciously folding her arms across her chest.

"Why?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Would you rather be helpless?"

She scoffs, gesturing one tanned arm to the bow that lies glinting on the boulder.

"I'm hardly helpless," she says scornfully. Cato appraises her for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers – no, he decides. She's definitely not helpless.

"No, you're not," he murmurs before briskly saying, "Are you in or not?"

She appraises him for a moment, her gray eyes searching his before she nods. "Yeah. I'm in."

He smiles, a slow, wicked movement that catches Twelve off guard – perfect. He rushes forward, neatly ducking her half-hearted blow to appear behind her, quickly capturing her neck between the crook of his left elbow.

"First lesson – always be ready," he murmurs next to her ear. She shivers before snapping, "Shut up."

He laughs, a short, happy sound that takes him by surprise. He has no time to dwell on it, however, for Twelve is whipping around, her fist slamming into his shoulder. He ignores the throbbing pain – she's strong – and twists with a grace most would think surprising for his muscular stature.

He swiftly whips out his foot and neatly tucks it underneath Twelve's leg, dropping her to the ground, and is on her in the next second, his arms pinning hers to either side of her body. They're both breathing heavily by this point, their breaths intermingling in the small – barely a few inches – space between them.

There's a distant roaring in his ears, and suddenly he's frozen – this is the point at which he's supposed to deliver a short blow to her temple to knock her out, or break her arms, or do any of the multiple paths that have been drilled into him since childhood…and yet – he can't.

She's beautiful, with her cheeks flushed, her gray eyes snapping passionately, her red lips slightly opened. He can't tear his eyes away –

"Cato," she breathes, her breath ghosting over his lips. He swallows, still paralyzed in place. He can't think, can't act, can't do anything –

He's _helpless _right now – if someone were to come up behind him and attack, if _she_ were to attack him – he wouldn't be able to defend himself. And – he has the sinking suspicion that if someone _were_ to attack him, he'd be glad that it was directed at him and not Twelve. This realization makes him sick, horror sinking into his very bones. What's _wrong_ with him?

He stands up abruptly, swiftly turning so he doesn't have to face those gray eyes. He hears muffled scuffling noises as Twelve gets to her feet as well, but he doesn't turn, instead staring intently at the wall in front of him.

"The train will be leaving soon. We should go back," Twelve finally says after a heavy silence that rests uneasily on Cato's chest. He nods without turning before quickly setting off at a pace too fast for Twelve to follow.

She's dangerous – he can't let her get to him. And yet – he can't get her eyes, her lips, her _spirit_ out of his mind. She haunts his thoughts, and no amount of training or fighting will get her out.

He snarls, snapping a heavy branch from a nearby tree as he sprints past before throwing it at an empty carriage a few hundred feet away with deadly accuracy, noting with satisfaction the telling _crash_ it makes as it slams into the metal body before ricocheting off.

He's still lethal – he's not worthless. Cato is not about to let some gray eyed weakling – no, not a weakling, his traitorous mind whispers – from Twelve distract him from his goals.

XXXXXXXXXXX

_Katniss_

She stares after Cato's rapidly disappearing back, her mind whirring confusedly – what just happened? Did he – was he – no, that can't be it, she decides, dismissing the idea before it even fully formed in her mind.

Shaking her head, she bends to retrieve her bow, gazing at its silver surface contemplatively before sighing and starting the walk back to the manor.

"Miss, the train leaves in _forty minutes_! Where have you _been_? And your _hair_!" Milla wails, picking at a tendril of Katniss's knotted hair with barely-concealed disgust. She shrugs; she doesn't see what the problem is – back in District Twelve, she takes only around five minutes to get up, splash her face with water, and slip on her beloved boots and hunting jacket.

Still muttering disapprovingly, Milla ushers her into the bath and begins scrubbing furiously at the layers of dirt that have collected on Katniss's skin while she and Cato were –

Katniss flushes before quickly redirecting her train of thought to something that did not involve the blue-eyed boy from Two. Prim. Her very heart _aches _at the thought of her younger sister; what was she doing right now? How was she holding up? Did she have enough food?

She blindly allows herself to be clothed in something soft and her hair to be yanked and pulled as her mind wanders, her hands absently gripping her bow tightly. If Foxface is alive, is Thresh still out there?

"Well, this is as good as it's going to get, I'm afraid," Milla says finally. Katniss blinks, jolted from her thoughts. She briefly glances at the mirror Milla's holding in front of her, noting that they've put her in a white dress with lace detailing and gold embellishments along the waistline. It's relatively simple, which Katniss is thankful for, but it's not what she's used to wearing. She longs for her jacket for what seems like the hundredth time before thanking Milla.

"No problem, now just wait here – someone will come to escort you the train shortly," she says before collecting Katniss's soiled clothes and leaving the room.

She moves to peer out the window, watching as a elaborately-clothed Isabella walks out, closely accompanied by Lucas. They pause in the middle of the street, and Katniss can just barely make out Isabella stamping her foot and angrily gesturing at the waiting carriage – what? Leaning in closer to the glass, she just manages to smother a burst of laughter when she sees that the carriage is badly dented, a branch she recognizes from the garden lying innocently a few feet away from the door.

Cato.

She sobers at the thought of the boy from Two; she has no idea what to think of him. On the one hand, he's a Career, trained to ruthlessly kill for the Capitol's pleasure. He's capable of monstrous things…and yet, on the other hand…he has another side. She thinks back to the time after the announcement of the Games when he comforted her and the way he offered to train her.

He's no longer the nameless Capitol puppet that she can blame for all her troubles; no, now he's something…

Different.

And suddenly the door slams open, and she whirls, her heart in her throat. Cato's barreling down on her, his dark blue eyes almost violet in the dim light of the room, his brows lowered angrily as he stalks toward her. Her heart hammers frantically; why is he here? He should be on the train by now – the train for Two leaves earlier than the train heading for District Twelve.

He grips her shoulders tightly with two strong hands, looking down at her with an intensity that's almost frightening. She feels a slight shiver travel down her spine at the sight of those dark eyes staring at her and finds herself searching for that ring of yellow-gray flecks in his left eye.

"Cato?" she asks hesitantly. He frowns before muttering, "Damn you," and bending down to press his lips against hers.

She freezes for a second, her eyes widening as he kisses her. A moment passes, then two –

And Katniss is closing her eyes, pressing her lips against his and snaking her arms up to grip at his golden hair, her fingers tangling his silken locks. For the first time in a very long time, Katniss truly feels like the girl on fire – indeed, her every nerve is singing in elation, her body fitting perfectly against his. She can't think, can't breathe – he's too close, not close enough, too much, too little –

She groans when his arms move down to her waist and lift her slightly so she rests on the windowsill. This feels so…_right_.

"_Katniss_," he murmurs, trailing kisses down her jawbone and pausing at her neck. Wait. Somehow, the sound of him saying her name jolts through the haze his kisses have produced, and common sense comes rushing back to her, accompanied by Prim's disapproving gaze and Peeta's betrayed eyes.

She pulls back and draws her fist back to punch his high cheekbone, her fingers smarting as they crash into his bone. He stares at her silently, his jaw clenching but otherwise showing no sign of having just been punched.

Then, without a word, his eyes darken and he turns, leaving the room as swiftly as he entered.

Katniss is silent for a long time after that, lifting a trembling hand to rest on her sensitive lips.

What on earth just happened?

And why is she still shaking?

When the attendant comes five minutes later to bring her to the carriage that will take her to the train leading her to the district that is and isn't her home, she follows him without complaint, her steps wooden and numb.

"Are you okay?"

Katniss turns and meets Hector's worried eyes, pasting a shaking smile onto her face.

"Yeah," she says firmly. "I'm fine."

They're roughly an hour away from Twelve. In another two hours two names will be picked, two kids who will be ripped from their families and brutally slaughtered for the whole of Panem's entertainment. God, it sickens her. Her fist clenches, balling up the delicate lace of her dress. In two days they'll be back on the train, heading back to the gaudy falsehood of the Capitol. She'll have to watch the two kids stuff themselves, much like Haymitch did so many days ago. Then she'll have to fill them with false hope and tactics, when she knows they're helpless against the well-trained machines One, Two, and Four produce…like Cato.

Cato. God, where does she stand with him? Her cheeks flush as she remembers the events that occurred just an hour before. Why did he – why did he _kiss_ her?

…

Why didn't she hate it?

She doesn't know if she can face him when she returns to the Capitol – will he pretend that it never happened? Did it mean anything to him, or was it just another way to get into her head? She _hates_ this uncertainty, this constant barrage of unanswerable questions. She decides that as soon as she sees Cato, she's going to walk up to him and punch him in the face. Again.

Hector watches her suspiciously for another moment before nodding and turning to take another apple from the fruit platter set on the table in front of them. The train moves swiftly, their surroundings a blur of green as they speed towards District Twelve.

"They're going to die," she says softly. She sees him turn to her in surprise out of the corner of her eye, and she sighs before recklessly continuing, "The kids who are reaped today. They are going to die." She turns to meet Hector's blue eyes, so like Peeta's, before swallowing and saying thickly, "Are you prepared to look these kids in the eye and encourage them with false hope?"

At this moment she feels she fully understands Haymitch. Although being a Mentor is her best way to gather information to return home…it's still like a stab to the heart.

Hector hesitates before glancing around for eavesdroppers. "No," he says finally, leaning in close and lowering his voice. "No, I'm not ready. But I'd rather it be me having to look those kids in the eye than someone who is ill prepared for it or – worse – just doesn't care."

Katniss blinks, startled, and looks at Hector – _really_ looks at him – for the first time. She notes the way his hands are steady, the broad build of his shoulders and the empty look in his eyes – a soldier, then. Maybe he lost some people during the rebellion, maybe he had to kill some people himself.

She laughs bitterly before turning to look out the window again.

"What a world we live in," Hector muses.

"Yeah," she agrees. "What a world."

**Author Note: They finally kissed! I thought it was about time, considering this story is already over 50k words xD Thanks so much for reading! As always, please review – all reviews get returned with a teaser of the next chapter! C; **

** I will be going on a long cross-country road trip that will last three weeks and will not have internet access :( However, I will still be writing – I just won't be able to post them. Sorry for the inconvenience and thanks for your patience! :)**


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

_Katniss_

"We're here."

The sound jolts her awake, and her hand automatically reaches for the bow that is nestled between her back and the plush chair she's perched on. She blinks blearily and relaxes only when she sees that she's still in the Capitol train. Then Hector's words finally sink in and she tenses once more.

"You ready for this?" Hector asks, his voice tinged with warm concern. She sighs, shakes out her arms, and sets a firm expression on her face.

"As I'll ever be," she replies, standing up and strapping the bow and quiver to her back. She can do this. She has a full forty-eight hours to train the kids; she can only hope that that will be enough. As Hector stands to join her by the door, she notes for the first time the absence of an escort. Katniss opens her mouth to ask about it but soon shuts it again; how can she explain to Hector the expected presence of an escort if this is technically the first year the Games are being run? The escort is probably a later addition, she decides.

And then the door slides open with a smooth whisper, bathing the two with blinding light as she steps out into District Twelve.

Everything is so similar; there's the familiar shape of the town square, the outlines of the town buildings…even the Mellarks' bakery is there, the familiar cream paint just peeking out from over a cluster of leafy oak trees. And yet, there are differences; there are more buildings, and although they're plastered over with burns – from rebel and Capitol bombs, she deduces – they still boast relatively new paint and are in much better condition than the buildings back home. The townspeople are different, too; sure, they're cheering under the careful watch of the white-clothed Peacekeepers flanking the square, but there's a steely undertone to the sound that is definitely not present in her hope-deprived time.

She lifts her chin and walks steadily toward the raised platform constructed to one end of the town square, the delicate fabric of her dress brushing lightly against her bare legs. She wishes she'd worn something stronger, something more intimidating, something that wouldn't leave her feeling helpless and weak.

Wait – if there isn't an escort, who will announce the Games? She wishes desperately that she will not be forced to do so; she doesn't know if she will be able to handle any more interaction with the ancestors of the people she grew up with than is absolutely necessary. When she asks Hector about it, however, he merely whispers through unmoving lips, "Trinket entrusts the man of each Mentor pair to announce the Games – he says he's worried the woman might get too emotional and botch things up."

She immediately bristles, and Hector glances at her and hurriedly adds, "Of course, that's utter rubbish. You could kick my ass any day."

She grins at that – Hector, with his huge muscles from lifting large bags of flour, can easily beat her in a physical fight, and he knows it. Still, it is a nice comment. Her spirits slightly lifted, she increases her pace until she arrived at the pavilion.

Hector approaches the microphone confidently, his face revealing none of the discomfort he revealed to her during the train ride. She admires his ability to easily slip on a mask, a pang hitting her chest as she's reminded of Peeta's easy charisma and ability to charm any audience.

"Hello!" he calls jovially, his eyes roving around the square in order to meet the eyes of as many people as possible. Katniss watches silently from behind the larger man, noting how although the majority of the people look genuinely curious and excited at this new Capitol announcement, there are still a few – mostly the dirtied ones at the very back of the square – who look skeptical and some who look disgusted and scornful of their cheering peers. So there are still pockets of distrust, perhaps concentrated with the families of those rebels who either perished or were put to the death after the rebellion.

She tunes out Hector's soothing words, having no wish to hear the Games explained by one of the few people here whom she can actually tolerate. Instead, she finds herself thinking once more of a different blonde…Cato.

What is he doing right now? Is he relishing his newly elevated status as a Mentor in his home district? Almost as soon as the question comes to her mind she dismisses it with a slight shake of her head; no, that is giving him too little credit; perhaps a few days ago she would have eagerly labeled him as a cold-blooded monster who would absolutely love as much involvement in the Games as possible…now? Well, now she isn't really sure of anything anymore.

And then that kiss – what _was _that? Why – why did he have to go and do that for? It's completely messing everything up. She remembers the unblinking way he received her punch – almost as if he's used to being punched on a daily basis. To her annoyance, a twinge of guilt pierces her chest; maybe she shouldn't have punched him…

But then again, he _did _practically ambush her. He didn't even _ask_ or give any hint that he felt that way – he just barged in and kissed her!

And yet…

Feeling slightly troubled, she transfers her attention back to the events at hand; she can worry about Cato later. Now is not the time to dwell on things unable to be answered until she returns to the Capitol…and Cato.

The two reaping bowls are centered on two pedestals on either side of Hector; the Capitol was always one to favor symmetry and order. The bowls are cut from severe, sleek facets of crystal, each bowl filled to the brim with snow-white slips of paper. She involuntarily hisses in a breath as Hector steps away from the microphone and advances to the bowl to his left.

"All right, men! Your time to shine," he says lightly, jokingly, and yet Katniss can sense a steely undertone in his words; they're almost a warning, and the crowd senses this – they shift uneasily, the tension thick and the silence overwhelming.

Hector's tan hand reaches into the bowl, his movements slightly obscured by the carved glass, and soon withdraws with a single slip of white paper held between two fingers.

He walks back toward the microphone, opens the paper, clears his throat, and reads, "Leon Hawthorne."

Katniss barely manages to stifle her gasp, her hands balling into tight fists behind her back, her fingers hidden by the frothy folds of her skirt.

Hawthorne. Gale – how is he? Has he heard of the destruction of the Arena yet? If so, does he think her dead? Her heart aches as a boy who could have been his twin steps forward from the safety of the crowd and advances towards the platform, one lone boy in a world full of bloodthirsty sharks.

He only looks to be around fourteen; his limbs are gangly and his movements awkward as if he's still getting used to his new, taller body. His clothes are worn, faded in some parts and full of carefully sewn patches in others; so he's from a coal mining family, then, with a mother who cares enough to send hours meticulously stitching her son's clothes. Is she heartbroken at Leon's reaping? Does she know what the Games entail?

Hector claps the boy on the back, turning him to face the crowd. The boy looks uncertain of what to make of the events, almost as if he's unsure whether to feel frightened or elated to be the first one from his District to be called for the Games.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hawthorne. Prepare for the ride of your life – make sure you properly kiss your mother goodbye, you hear? You boys these days are far too reckless for your own good – break any hearts lately?" The last words are loud and light; his tone is just teasing enough for the words to be taken as a harmless joke, but when one set the words in a different context…well, one found a completely different and considerably more sinister warning.

Leon, however, doesn't seem to see this, for he takes Hector's words as encouragement, a slow, hesitant smile growing to a confident grin. He even offers a small wave to the crowd that is quickly responded with a roar of approval. Feeling sickened, Katniss looks away from the horde of people cheering for his imminent death, breathing slowly to settle the anger that surges up in her with every round of applause.

Calm, Katniss.

Reminding herself of her plan to help these kids stay alive, she pastes on an encouraging smile and meets Leon's dark gray eyes before transferring her attention back to Hector, who has by now quieted the crowd and is preparing to draw the second name from the second bowl, the second child to be sent to this bloodthirsty game of murder and politics.

"Hazel Abernathy!"

A relatively strong looking girl of around seventeen stands and walks slowly to the platform, her steps dragging as she looks worriedly back to the throng of people that she has left. Abernathy – one of Haymitch's ancestors?

Her brown eyes meet Katniss's, and she flinches before quickly looking away. Good – she knows enough to be wary of anything to do with the Capitol…it's odd to view herself as affiliated with the Capitol, but Katniss supposes that in her frothy silk dress she must appear to be yet another pampered Capitol idiot. The thought annoys her, but she pushes it down – if they underestimate her, so be it; it will be their loss.

The ceremony finished, Hector motions for the Peacekeepers to escort the two Tributes to the holding area where they will have the opportunity to bid goodbye to their respective families.

She follows Hector into the large, rectangular train station and sits on one of the sleek metal benches lining the room.

"Now what?"

Hector sighs and sits next to her, all traces of his previous jovial grin disappearing.

"Now we wait," he says, his mouth a grim line. "After they've said good bye to their families – I do hope they do a proper job of it, seeing as…well, I'm sure I don't need to complete that thought. Anyway, after they've concluded their business, they will meet us here and will be brought to the new building Trinket's built. It's next to the train station; it was that big glass triangle, remember?"

Katniss nods; she remembers seeing the huge and imposing building from the train and thinking how incredibly expensive it looked. This must be a new – old? – development in the Games, seeing as how she and Peeta left almost immediately after the Reaping; she wonders briefly when – and why – the practice of allowing the Tributes to remain for two days was abolished.

"They won't be allowed to leave the building, but they'll have plenty to occupy themselves with; the Capitol installed only the best entertainment systems. Our job is to watch over them and ensure their safe arrival."

Katniss nods again, biting her lip softly as she thinks about the situation; from the looks of it, Leon will be the one in the most trouble. He's young, naïve. His destitute background will mean he'll be more likely to be blinded and awed by the glamour of the Capitol, and although he's tall, his lack of confidence will not encourage Sponsors to bet on him.

The girl, on the other hand, looks wary and untrusting; good. She'll know not to take the false simpering at face value. Add that to the fact that this is the first Game – so Districts One, Two, and Four won't have the time to churn out highly trained killing machines – and all the Districts are in more or less the same place after the rebellion's damages…or, at least, comparatively more on equal footing than they were during her time, and they had a decent chance.

Or at least more of a chance than normal District 12 tributes would have.

Of course, all this means nothing if they're not trained, if they're thrown into the midst of the Games without any clue on how to act, to speak, to _fight_.

Katniss will have to train them.

She's not entirely sure if training the tributes beforehand is strictly allowed; Hector hasn't mentioned anything about it, and she suspects that because the Games are so new in this time, the rules haven't been fully cemented yet. She'll have to take advantage of that uncertainty and train them anyway; if she gets caught, she can always chalk up her actions as an innocent misunderstanding ("Oh, sorry, I wasn't aware that it was against the rules!").

She sighs, noting with a start that Hector has left sometime while she was lost in her thoughts. Leaning back against the unforgiving metal of the bench, her gaze drifts to the green leaves she can barely make out in the distance, the trees clustered together and whispering of peaceful walks in the forest. A lump rises in her throat as she recalls the time before the Games – a time of near-starvation, yes, but it was also a time of shared goat cheese and peaceful hunts among the trees.

A distant crash sounds, followed by the aching groan of a tree falling to the ground. A flock of birds rose in the distance, flying off with disgruntled chatters as another tree begins to shake. They're cutting down more trees – probably for another Capitol building. Katniss scowls but forces herself to stand, turning away from the fallen trees and towards the slim building in which two children wait to be shipped off to their uncertain futures.

Another sigh. Then -

Gritting her teeth resolutely, she walks decisively through the gleaming steel and glass doors and into the grim reality that waits within.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

"You've died sixteen times already."

The boy scowls and swipes his arm across his face, smearing sweat and blood together.

"You're supposed to _help_ me, not kill me!" he complains, his words interspersed with heavy panting.

Cato doesn't react, instead staring impassively down with contempt at the pitiful excuse of a tribute kneeling before him. He can't even _stand_ after only two hours of training – how is he supposed to last the _days_ of endless running?

He groans inwardly, resisting the urge to just give up and let the foolish boy collapse and whine to his death – see how well _that_ strategy works for him.

Of course, he wasn't expecting stellar Careers from his District – the rebellions _had_ just ended, after all – but this? This was even worse than he had thought.

The boy – Ajax Baros – stands again, his brown eyes narrowed in concentration. Then – with a battle cry, of all things – he charges, his head lowering and his fists swinging wildly in an arc.

It's almost not even worth dodging.

At the last second Cato neatly sidesteps, twisting his torso mid-motion, and lands a swift kick to Ajax's side. He's down in the next second, groaning in a fetal position on the thin blankets serving as a makeshift mat. To Cato's annoyance, District 2's training center – or at least the closest thing they had to one – was destroyed during the rebellions when District 13 threw a bomb at the town center. So he's had to resort to creating his own makeshift gym in the clearing behind the train station. Add that to the fact that _no one_ in District 2 has formal training (although as a district known for graphite mining, the populace _does_ possess more brute strength than the average person) and Cato had a lot of work to do.

He distantly hears muffled grunts as Clove and the other tribute – Ophelia Petracca – spar on the other side of the clearing.

He hears a groan from underneath him – right. Ajax is still there. The boy is around sixteen years old, dreadfully cocky – well, not after today's training – and relatively strong. He has absolutely no training and was wild and uncontrolled in his movements, a trait that will get him killed in the first ten seconds of the Games.

"Seventeen," Cato says simply.

A muttered curse – Cato pretends not to hear it, instead reaching down to pull Ajax up. Ignoring Ajax's look of surprise, he continues, "Your punches are out of control. Don't arc your arm – punch in a straight line, turning your wrist at the last second for maximum impact."

A blank stare – he sighs again (honestly, he only has a day and a half before he will be presented for all of Panem to see) before striding purposefully to the target – a wooden board nailed to a telephone pole – and punching it, watching in idle satisfaction as the wood splits cleanly down the metal before dropping to the dry grass below.

"Your turn," he says. Ajax swallows visibly before walking to the next target. He closes his eyes, breathing in deeply, before thrusting his fist forward. A slight crack appears in the wood – it's not enough, but it's certainly better than the pathetic flailing he called fighting.

"Again."

Ajax scowls and mutters something about "child labor" before gritting his teeth and repeating the action.

Cato adjusts his stance before stepping back and watching carefully as Ajax continues the exercise. He finds his mind drifting a bit to the gray-eyed girl from Twelve – what is she doing right now? Is she also training her tributes?

Almost as soon as the question comes up he dismisses it -

Of course she is – he can't imagine her sitting back idly while two children from the district she's so fiercely protective of go innocently to their deaths.

A muffled crack – he's finally broken it. Cato allows him a five-minute break – three minutes more than his trainers had ever given him, but hey, he's feeling generous – and walks over to where Clove is training Ophelia.

Ophelia, unlike Ajax, has had training at some point; she is the daughter of the Head Peacekeeper, and he is sure to have trained her what with all the rebellions and uprisings. Although she's considerably weaker than Ajax, her control will enable her to beat most other opponents. Add that to the fact that she's absolutely ruthless – during target practice even Clove was surprised by the ferocity with which she threw spears at the targets before asking if she could move on to birds, a notion which Clove quickly rejected – and Ophelia is an absolute contender for the winning spot.

Ophelia has several inches on Clove and is currently using that to her advantage, pinning Clove down on the floor while she struggles to land a punch on Clove's face. Clove, however, has the advantage of years and years of living and breathing training against larger foes, and she swiftly tucks her legs under Ophelia's stomach before launching her forward, flipping their bodies and lightly pressing her knuckles against Ophelia's temples.

"Match."

Ophelia snarls, looking as if she'd like nothing more than to rip Clove's face off. Cato quickly intervenes, neatly separating the two and motioning for Ophelia to join Ajax at the water station. To his amusement, Ophelia immediately blushes at the eye contact before laughing delicately before scurrying off to the water table.

Something whacks into the side of his head – he catches the object without thinking as it falls, frowning as he sees that it's a small, jagged rock.

"Well, _that_ was violent," he says chidingly. Clove scowls at him, her pale skin flushed an angry red.

"You _jerk_," she says hotly, crossing her arms angrily. Cato shrugs, a smirk sliding onto his face – he can't help if girls like him. Clove's scowl deepens, and she reaches over to punch him before stomping away.

He laughs softly before sighing and resting his back against a nearby tree, staring absent-mindedly at the jagged mountains in the distance. How are they going to get back to their time? Sure, he only really wants to return for the Games, but he knows Clove at least likes her family…and he needs to make sure his younger brother doesn't turn out like him.

And then there's Twelve – he's seen firsthand the fierce love she holds for her younger sister. He can't imagine she would be content to stay here for an extended period of time.

"M-Mr. Alexander?"

The tentative voice breaks through his thoughts, and he throws an annoyed glance at the speaker – a rather timid looking man dressed in those ridiculous long overcoats everyone in this time period seems to be obsessed with. At least District 2 isn't as bad as the Capitol – although there still is a vomit-inducing amount of Victorian clothes thrown around, it's nowhere near the amount seen in the Capitol.

"What?" he says curtly. The man gulps before jerking his arm forward, thrusting a slim, embossed card in Cato's face. Cato scowls, taking it brusquely, before turning around to examine it.

The man scurries off behind him, but Cato hardly registers the movement – no, he's too busy staring at the twelve silver letters embossed in the center of the sturdy paper. His surroundings blur around him and a distant roaring presses against his ears.

_Sorry._

_ -Katniss_

**AN: Thanks for reading! Ugh, not completely happy with it, but I wanted to get **_**something **_**out – I haven't written in such a long time D: Sorry for the (long) wait! As always, please review! C:**


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

_Katniss_

"Um…lady slippers?"

"Try again."

Leon groans, staring determinedly down at the small cluster of white flowers before him. The flowers flutter slightly in the soft breeze, the pale yellow centers contrasting sharply with the pure white petals.

A pause. Then –

"Wood anemone!"

"Good. Characteristics?"

Leon moans once more, burrowing his head in his hands.

"_Katniss_," he whines.

"_Leon_," Katniss mimics with a small smile. This is the second day of training; yesterday she taught them how to use a bow, which they were already proficient in (the infamous electric fence hasn't been built yet, although she did see a few Capitol employees scouting the future site) due to regular hunting sessions, and a bit of strength training. Unfortunately, Katniss isn't knowledgeable on hand-to-hand combat, which is the majority of the Games – Cato would be perfect for that.

The thought of Cato brings an unexpected lump to her throat – has he received her message? What was his reaction? Perhaps she shouldn't have sent in – he probably doesn't even know what she's apologizing fo-

"Contains protoanemonin; in other words, touching or consuming it will cause severe irritation and pain, sometimes resulting in hematemesis," Hazel's cool voice interrupts her thoughts. Leon scowls, standing up abruptly and sending clumps of dirt flying back down to the forest ground.

"I knew that!" he says indignantly.

"Hematemesis. Define," Hazel challenges, raising an eyebrow pointedly when she sees Leon's hesitation. Katniss resists the urge to sigh for the sixteenth time today; Hazel and Leon go together just about as well as oil and water.

"It's…a medical affliction," Leon says slowly, kicking the flowers over into his haphazardly collected pile of poisonous plants. Hazel scoffs before turning away to her own neatly categorized piles, each one categorized by potential lethality.

"Basically when you vomit up blood," Katniss says to Leon. At least she's picked up something from all her years living with her mother and Prim. She shudders a bit at the thought of it; she's never been good with blood.

Hazel remains silent, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears as she roots for more plants to categorize.

In a way, Haymitch's ancestor reminds her of Clove; they're both aloof and confident on the exterior…but both use their superiority as a defense mechanism to hide their fear. Hazel catches Katniss's eye and quickly looks away, busying herself with returning a stray milkweed stalk that has drifted a few inches away from its pile.

Although Hazel appears uncaring on the outside, Katniss knows better than to take her at face value; even while Leon still believed in the false glitter of the Games – he still does to a small extent, even after several talks on the contrary – Hazel was wary. When Hector lectured them last night about how to appeal to sponsors and generally make themselves likeable, Hazel listened intently, her usually-tanned face pale and drawn.

Katniss sighs before saying, "Right, the train leaves in forty minutes. You'll be allowed to take one – and _only_ one – item to the Capitol. Hector will escort you to your house, Leon. I'll be taking you, Hazel. I'd – I'd suggest that when you retrieve your items – just…make sure to thank your parents, okay?" She wishes she could just tell them outright to hug their families and settle any grievances while they have the chance, but even in the forest she can't be sure that no one is listening.

Thankfully, Hazel catches on quickly, and she reaches over to swiftly nudge Leon and give him a meaningful look. Leon blinks before a look of realization dawns on his gray eyes, and he exchanges a shaking glance with Hazel before nodding at Katniss.

"I'm sure you can get back to your houses on your own; there's no need for me to escort you there, is there?" They shake their heads, and Katniss smiles wryly – she'll probably get in trouble for this, but at this point she can hardly begrudge them a few last moments alone with their friends and family – before continuing, "Then we'll meet at the train station in exactly thirty minutes. I'll see you then."

They nod once more before turning and running off, both of them moving through the heavily wooded area with nimble ease. For their sakes, Katniss hopes the arena is set in a forest; they'll need all the advantages they can get.

She bends down and carefully scatters the piles, meticulously erasing all evidence of their training session. She's sure the Capitol has suspicions that she's training them, but she doesn't want to make it easy for them to convict her.

Having completed her task, she stands and, brushing the dirt from her dark green pants, makes her way back into the heart of her district.

Her feet automatically trace the path back to her house – or, at least, where it should be. When she reaches the area, she sees nothing but gently waving grass grown long and wild from neglect.

A few birds chirp in the distance, the sounds clear and cheerful in the late summer haze. As she surveys the area, she spots a small sapling with broad yellow-green leaves that billow out before sloping in to a sharp point. Her breath catches; it's the tree that she and Prim always used to climb on when they were younger, the tree on which her father taught her how to climb – a skill that had saved her life back in the Arena.

It's much shorter now, the branches thin and spindly rather than the broad, sturdy ones she's used to. Still – it makes her feel better to see _some_ familiar aspect to this otherwise foreign field.

She glances down at the simple – at least compared to Capitol standards – leather watch she's been given, noting that she still has twelve minutes left until the train leaves. She briefly wonders what would happen if she just dropped everything and ran into the woods – would the train leave without her? Would Peacekeepers be sent after her? She can't imagine that the Capitol would let her run free; Snow knows that she's from the future and thus holds valuable information.

Besides, she can hardly run away – as tempting as it may be, she has Prim to get back to…_and Cato_, a small voice in the corner of her mind whispers.

Katniss blinks; what? Where did _that_ come from?

Feeling slightly troubled, she shakes her head to clear her thoughts before making her way down the path she's gone down countless times before. She has just enough time to visit the Hob.

When she reaches the familiar collection of patched stalls and bustle of people crowding furtively around the vendors, she breathes a sigh of relief; at least this hasn't changed. As she slips past the clumps of bartering people, she can't help but notice that everyone is staring at her. When she meets their eyes, they look away hurriedly. Some gazes are merely curious…others, she realizes with a jolt, are laced with venom.

Right – she'd forgotten that, dressed as she is in the fine clothes of the Capitol, she must be thought as just another Capitolite taken to 'slumming' in the Districts for a laugh.

She swallows, tearing her gaze from one particularly angry-looking woman with all-too-familiar gray eyes. The woman, who looks around her mother's age, has dark brown hair the exact same shade as Katniss's and the strong jaw Katniss sees every time she looks in a mirror. Her heart begins to beat rapidly; is this her ancestor? Are they somehow related?

Lowering her head, she increases her pace, no longer pausing to gaze at the various wares being advertised by the malnourished vendors by the sides of the street.

A hand grabs her arm roughly, jerking her backwards so she half-stumbles before smoothly whirling around, ducking underneath her attacker in a move she's seen Cato do hundreds of times and forcing the assailant to let go. The attacker – the woman from before – scowls, rubbing her hand.

"Get out of here," she hisses, her dirt-smeared, olive cheeks flushing red with anger.

Katniss is frozen; what does she do? She's never – _never _been spoken to with such blatant hatred. She can see _why_ the woman is angry, of course; the rebellions have just ended. District Twelve is probably still resentful of the Capitol's victory, still angry about all the deaths that resulted from the conflict. And Katniss, with her Capitol-made finely tailored pants and black shirt, sticks out like a sore thumb in the coal-stifled district of oppressed and poverty-stricken people.

The woman steps closer, her eyes narrowing to mere slits. A hush falls over the Hob as people cease their bartering to stare at the duo in the middle of the market.

Katniss swallows once more, opening her mouth –

"You Capitol people _sicken_ me. How _dare_ you come here, flaunting your wealth, your health, your gaudy gadgets when we are literally _starving_. No one wants you or your kind – _get. Out._"

She blinks, shocked to a momentary silence by the woman's harsh words. Is this how she was back before the Games? She'd almost forgotten how much bitterness hunger and desperation could instill in a person…especially when gaudy wealth was flaunted right in their faces. She cursed her stupidity; she shouldn't have come here – not dressed like this, at least. What had she expected – that her District would welcome her with warm hugs?

"_Well?_" The woman asks brusquely, folding her arms over her chest and stepping even closer. "What are you waiting for? _Leave_."

When Katniss doesn't move, she _snarls_, leaping forward and slamming her to the ground. Katniss's breath catches as her head collides against the hard-packed dirt pathway, struggling to dislodge the heavier woman from her body. The crowd presses closer, some jeers and yells of encouragement sounding from the once-hesitant people; no one is going to help a Capitolite.

The woman spits in her face, the warm, disgusting liquid sliding down Katniss's cheek.

And suddenly she's filled with red rage, bile rising in her throat as she tenses underneath the woman. How _dare_ this woman judge her? She has no idea what she's gone through, who she is, her situation – _nothing_.

Katniss lets out a strangled yell, swiftly bending her knees to her chest and, with a grunt, slamming her feet forward into the woman's torso. The woman flies off with a muffled yell, and Katniss is on her feet in the next instant, standing over the whimpering woman with a stubbornly emotionless expression on her face; she will _not_ let this woman see how she's affected her – how she's made her feel unsure of _who_ she is. She isn't the same Katniss who escaped to the woods whenever she had the chance – not anymore, at least. The Capitol's made sure of that. And now she's used her strength, her superior health, against this desperate woman whose only fault is her hunger. Is she any better than the Peacekeepers who used to beat people just for trying to take a loaf of bread?

She looks away, lifting her chin, and begins to make her way through the now-silent crowd of onlookers.

A strangled yell sounds from behind her, followed quickly by the dull thump of two bodies colliding –

Katniss whirls around, her mouth dropping open slightly when she sees a dark-haired boy around her age, his shirt still choked with coal dust, holding the struggling woman still.

"Why are you helping her? _She is the enemy_," she hears the woman shout, her voice hoarse with frustration. The boy turns his head slightly, revealing features almost identical to Leon's. His older brother, perhaps?

"What are you waiting for? _Go!_" he shouts. She can't muster up any words, but he must have seen her unspoken gratitude in her eyes, for he smiles softly before yelling insistently, "Go!"

She nods slightly and turns, her feet slipping slightly against the crumbling dirt as she runs, pushing past the onlookers. A few people reach out half-heartedly to try and stop her, but she easily dodges their attempts, twisting her body through the labyrinth of arms until she breaks free, only stopping when she reaches the now-deserted main square.

She pauses to catch her breath, her heart still pounding erratically in her chest. Each breath feels as if it scrapes against her throat, clawing at her skin with iron-tipped nails as she struggles to calm herself down.

And so she stands, alone in the center of the square, a single shard of black against a backdrop of gray dust.

After a few minutes she shakes herself awake, sets her jaw, and begins the walk to the train station. She'll have time to dwell on the events of the Hob later; now? Now she has work to do.

For Prim, she tells herself firmly. The two words become a mantra for her, comforting in their regularity and purpose as she greets the two children who will be dead, dead, dead in a few days and then boards the metal train that is leading them to their deaths.

For Prim.

_For Prim._

XXXXXXXXXXXX

_Cato_

"Oh, do _shut up_, Ajax. Honestly, it's like you were born without a brain," Ophelia says loudly from her position on the seat directly to Cato's left. She casts a swift glance at Cato's direction, peering from under her long eyelashes to check if he's listening.

Cato rolls his eyes, but unfortunately Ophelia's already turned around, distracted by a sharp retort from Ajax, so she doesn't see his annoyance; he groans inwardly. This girl just cannot take a hint.

Clove snickers at him from her perch on the seat opposite his. He scowls at her, which of course only makes her laugh even harder.

"Shut up," he hisses.

"See? Even Cato wants you to stop your incessant prattle!" Ophelia shouts, completely misunderstanding Cato's words. He resists the urge to throw the green apple that he's been rolling between his palms at her.

Or tackle her – tackling would work too.

But, of course, the Capitol probably wouldn't take very kindly to a Mentor injuring his own Tributes…although they had turned a blind eye when Brutus had –

No, he's not going to think about Brutus. Not now – not when he's got more important things to worry about…

He sighs softly, a frustrated breath that escapes from his mouth, as he props his elbow against the short metal window ledge, leaning forward to stare at the mildly-green blur that appears outside.

They'll arrive at the Capitol in ten minutes. District Two is the closest of the districts to the Capitol and thus has the most contact with it, so Ajax and Ophelia were already familiar with the Capitol antics – and how to attract wealthy Sponsors.

And although Ajax and even Ophelia are nowhere near the level of even the most average of the Careers of his time, it'll have to do – he has no other options. Not now.

Of course, the train is also speeding towards the Remake Center where they will be pulled and prodded at by a team of stylists before being hurled into the Opening Ceremonies…Cato pushes down a twinge of uneasiness as he thinks of his own Opening Ceremonies, how stunned he'd been by Twelve's appearance –

It almost feels like that had been a different Cato in a different world, some alternate universe in which everything happened as it should have, not the crazed time travel-infested world he is experiencing. He'd _hated_ Twelve. Hated her for attracting more attention than he, hated her for being so stubbornly secretive, and _hated_ her for getting a higher score than he –

And now? He's not sure _how_ he feels. He just knows that he doesn't _hate_ her anymore…

Which is a bit troubling – he's not supposed to get attached to the other Tributes, his compe-

He stops himself mid-thought. But of course, they aren't competitors. Not anymore.

He's still pondering the situation when the train rolls to a smooth stop, his brow creased as he taps his fingers absent-mindedly against his expensive, Capitol-provided leather shoes.

"We're here," says Clove. He looks up distractedly to meet her dark eyes. She looks a bit worried; she can sense that something's off about him, that he's no longer the single-minded Career who knew _exactly_ what he was supposed to do and how to accomplish it –

He shakes his head slightly, dispelling the troubling thoughts, and stands abruptly, assuming the cocky expression he always does when he feels uncomfortable –

"It's about time," he says smoothly. Ophelia beams at him from behind Clove, but Clove only eyes him warily for another moment before nodding slowly.

He casts a disdainful glance down at the unnecessarily opulent train seats before smirking at Ajax and Ophelia.

"Well, it's time to see what you babies can do," he says. They look determined, not a trace of anxiety revealed in their confident gazes –

And suddenly he's struck by the differences between himself and the two Tributes – at what point did he lose his cocky self-assurance, the belief that he could accomplish anything if he just put in enough hours training?

No. Now is not the time for such self-doubt –

Cato straightens and, carefully avoiding Clove's gaze, leads the way out of the train and into the stark sunshine and the roaring of hundreds of gaudily dressed Capitol fools.

Let the Games begin, he thinks grimly as he smiles charmingly and throws a few winks –

He'll be ready for them. He has to be.

**Author Note: Thanks for reading! :) As always, please review – all reviews are returned with a teaser of the next chapter c;**


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